Humanity
by sarramaks
Summary: The BAU team race to Utah to solve a series of crimes against elderly people & complications ensue. Case/team fic, with a developing Hotch/Prentiss relationship. Sequel to Calverville Point, but can be read alone. Final chapter up 2nd March.
1. Chapter 1

_It's always rather nerve-racking posting a new story, so feedback would be very much welcome!_

_You don't need to have read __**Calverville Point, South Dakota**__ to understand this, but it may help with a few references!_

_I don't own Criminal Minds, and am making no money out of this, and after the amount of Christmas shopping I've done today, I have no money left, so don't bother trying to sue!_

**Humanity**

"But I know that I can make it  
As long as somebody takes me home,  
every now and then."

- The Killers, _Sam's Town_

**Chapter One**

Night time had dressed up for the occasion; wearing a dark blue gown, speckled with stars that shimmered in the autumn wind. The trees that lined the sidewalks had almost undressed for the season; their summer finery now blackened and scattered, blowing on the gusts that whipped between the buildings and sent shivers down the spines of the pedestrians that trod the streets of the city. The night was alive, its presence palpable by all who were alive in it, feeling its gloved fingers stroke their skin and soak them in its atmosphere. Music toppled from a bar; the sultry sounds of a smoky jazz melody haunting the passers-by.

Emily paused, hearing the music, and debated calling Hotch to change the point of their rendezvous, but the saxophone screamed soft sheets and sex, and she wasn't sure that it was the right direction for their evening. Not yet, anyway. She didn't bother to check her reflection in the large window as she turned a corner, heading down an alleyway. The wind had rippled her hair, but at least it wasn't raining, so there were no random curls, and Hotch had seen her at her worse, and best, before now. And she didn't want to appear to keen, so she'd dressed down rather than up, and kept her make up to a slightly heavier than day look, but not over done. And she'd tried not to agonise about what to wear... and she really was rather nervous.

Sounds of jazz were still audible as Emily paused, absently-mindedly smoothing down her jacket, and consciously forcing herself to relax. She did not have the greatest dating history in the world, and that would occasionally play on her mind at the beginning of any 'first date'. First date. She began to walk again, seeing the flickering lights of the Thai take out, and pushed the reoccurring thought that she was about to have dinner with her boss in a non-work setting out of her mind.

She could see through the window that he wasn't there yet; all but one of the six plastic tables were unoccupied, a middle-aged Thai man sitting near to the door. Hotch had sent her a message, telling her to speak to Kasem when she arrived, that Kasem would be expecting them. Hotch had clearly known she would be early; such was her inability to follow key dating rules.

"Hi," she said, catching the man's attention as she pushed open the door. "Are you Kasem?"

The man nodded and stood up. "Emily?" he said. "Aaron said you would be here before him. Please – choose a table." He disappeared behind the counter, and she sat down across from the door, facing the window so she could see exactly who was passing, and who was entering.

Being fifteen minutes early had been enough to see some men off in the past, suggesting an over-eagerness that screamed desperate. She certainly hadn't been desperate, not for her date anyway, just anxious that she didn't reveal herself as a nerd before they had gotten past first base.

But Hotch already knew she was a nerd. And he hadn't yet called her to cancel. She checked her cell just in case as Kasem returned with two menus.

"Aaron won't need this," he said, his accent a curious mixture of Thai and Texan. "But I'll leave him one anyway. Can I get you a drink? We have no license, so it'll have to be cola or something. Or coffee."

"A lemonade, thank you," Emily said, giving him a soft smile. He was older than she'd first thought, probably in his seventies or late sixties. "Does Aaron come here a lot?" She had no doubt that Kasem could profile as well as she could, and he would certainly know why she was asking.

He nodded. "Once a week, sometimes twice, and then we won't see him for two, three weeks. He's a busy man, but you know that. And he's always alone. Always quiet and always thinking. I'll get you your drink." Kasem disappeared again, and before she'd had chance to open the rather tatty menu, Hotch appeared, nodding at her as he came through the door.

"Is everything okay at your apartment?" he said, sitting opposite her. His expression was steadfast as usual, no emotions playing on his features.

"Just as I left it, only with a little more dust," she said. "Yours?"

"Same." He pulled a menu over and she wondered if he was feeling nervous. The thought of Hotch being anything less than sure of himself settled her own nerves, and she managed to smile. "The Pad Thai is always good."

"I was thinking of having that," she said. "Have you spoken to Jack?"

"Just before I left," he folded the menu back up and put it in the centre of the table. "He's fine. Unfortunately, Haley wasn't."

Emily tipped her head onto one side. "She was expecting you to be around in the next few days?"

"She has an engagement where she needs to stay overnight, and I can't guarantee we'll be back from Utah. It's okay – her sister will be able to look after him," Hotch said, but Emily heard the cut in his voice that told her it wasn't okay.

"Hotch, if you were a businessman, whose intent was to make as much money as possible, I could understand your guilt and Haley's blame. But you're not. Your job isn't for the good of yourself, if for Jack, and millions of other kids like him. Don't beat yourself up." She picked up the menu and looked at it. "I'm going to have Tom Khaa soup to start with."

Hotch gave her a ghost of a smile. "Be warned it comes in a polystyrene take out bowl," he said. He held her gaze. "It's a good thing you already know me, else you'd be plotting your way out of here already."

Emily laughed. "Hey, if you weren't you, I'd have already said at least four things that outed me as a nerd."

He smiled properly this time, amused at her, and any tension that had been there because of the awkwardness of the situation vacated the room. It was an odd choice of venue for what was technically a first date; it was a take-out, which just happened to have an area for seating, should anyone want to eat rather than carry. This meant that the decor was sparse and cheap, a complete contrast to some of the places that Emily had been to on first dates in the past. Not that it bothered her; she felt far more comfortable here where she didn't have to pretend, or play act, or act graceful enough to fit in with the surroundings.

Kasem appeared, holding a scrap of paper. "Aaron," he said, smiling at Hotch. "It's been a few weeks. Busy at work?"

"Unfortunately," Hotch said. "Has business been good?"

Kasem grinned, and Emily reassessed his age again. "Always good. What can I get you and the lady?"

"Two Tom Khaa soups, and," he glanced at Emily. She nodded, knowing he would understand what she was trying to communicate. "Two Pad Thais. And could I have a coffee?"

Kasem folded the scrap of paper into his back pocket. "I think my old brain can just about remember that." He almost glided into the back room, a phone ringing persistently.

"How old is he?" Emily asked, keeping her voice low, even though he wouldn't have been able to hear her anyway.

Hotch shrugged. "He won't ever say. I suspect he's older than he looks. His son is the head chef, and his wife and daughter-in-law help out. His son must be in his late forties at least. He's a nice guy. When Haley and I were having difficulties, and I was going to be very late home, I'd come here to eat. I think one week I was here five times, and the other two nights we were away on a case."

It was the second time he'd mentioned Haley and it worried Emily slightly. It wasn't usual to discuss your ex with a new date, or even an old one. You were meant to show that you'd moved on, that any hang-ups had been overcome, but she was oddly relieved that he _was_ talking about Haley. He was trusting her, letting down a barrier.

"The food must be good then," she said. "But I still bet it's not as good as my pizza place."

"We'll have to see," Hotch leant forward narrowing the distance between them. "But I bet your pizza place doesn't have a sit in area like this." He folded his arms, challenging her.

"No," she said, not liking the fact he was trying to score one up on something other than the food. "You'd have to eat at mine."

Her words hung in the air, a lit match waiting to start a fire. She saw him bite his lips together, briefly, and that electricity, that strange chemical reaction based on nothing they could control, came back into play. "When we get back from Utah," he said, and she wondered what else he was promising apart from food.

Kasem returned with Hotch's coffee and basket of thick prawn crackers with a sweet chilli dip. His eyes twinkled as he placed it between them. "You are colleagues?" he said. "And you've had a busy day?"

Emily nodded. "A busy few days," she said. "And more busy days ahead." She groaned internally at the prospect of what lay ahead and the weariness she was already feeling. If they could have had a few days off in between, a few days to catch up on office work and spend evenings at home – with or without company. She wondered whether this tonight was some form of torture; whilst in Utah, she and Hotch would have to maintain a professional distance, more so than they had in South Dakota, and she wasn't sure if she wanted any sort of distance between them at the moment.

"Then you need to feed yourselves up," Kasem said. "Work is always done best on a stomach that's not grumbling. I'll fetch your soup – it should be done."

She saw Hotch watch the small man disappear back into the kitchen. "I wish we weren't heading out tomorrow," he said quietly, as if he had been reading her thoughts. "If we weren't, we'd have gone somewhere else."

"This is fine, Hotch," she said, biting into a prawn cracker. "I don't need fancy restaurants that serve food I don't really like and end up being so nervous about using the right fork I spill the starter down myself."

His smile turned into a low chuckle. "And I know, Emily Prentiss, that you have perfect manners and behave in a most socially acceptable way in any situation like that. You forget I've seen you in action."

She pulled a face at him and groaned. "But I hate all that pomp and circumstance. I prefer places like this where I can wear jeans and not worry if I do end up with prawn cracker crumbs round my mouth."

He reached over and brushed her mouth with his fingers, knocking off the crumbs that were already there. His touch was tender and set her on fire, a blaze burning right through her body. The effect she was now allowing him to have on her was almost frightening.

Footsteps sounded on the tiled floor and Kasem returned with their soups. The bowls weren't take-out ones as Hotch had predicted; instead they were large ceramic ones, which looked hand-made. The owner had clearly realised that this was more than colleagues grabbing a quick supper, and had decided to do what he could to help the occasion.

"I've never seen these before," Hotch said, raising his eyebrows at Kasem.

"You've never brought a pretty lady in before," Kasem said, raising just one eyebrow back and smiling at Emily. "Give my wife a shout when you're ready for your Pad Thai; I have to deliver some orders." He left them to it, taking the same route around the tables that he had done each time, rather like a mouse with OCD scarpering back into its hole.

There had been no doubt already in Emily's mind that Hotch hadn't brought any previous dates here, probably not to have even picked up take-out on the way back to his apartment. She knew from Garcia's detective work that there had been someone briefly after Haley, but it had only been brief. "You think Garcia's tracing our movements?" Emily said. "The revelation on the jet home would have been enough for her to have all of her computer super powers switched on this evening."

She saw him stifle a grin. "Cash. Road with no cameras. So unless she's stalked us here on her own two feet, she'll be oblivious. And she's not seen Kevin for several days, so I think we can be off guard. Rossi, however, could well turn up."

"He's still in South Dakota," Emily said, laughing at the look of irritation on Hotch's face.

"I'm sure he has some sort of supernatural ability to magic himself into situations just to stir things up. He ended up with me in Strauss' office a couple of weeks ago, and I swear the door was closed and he just appeared there," Hotch's dry sense of humour began to emerge. "I wouldn't be surprised to turn round now and see Dave sat there, waving at us."

"You're safe; he's not there," she said, pushing the spoon into the soup just to get the liquid, leaving the noodles and vegetables till the end.

"That's good. But he'll probably appear when we least expect it." His expression and tone were dead pan, completely flat. "Richard Davey's made an appeal."

The statement was almost out of the blue. "When did you find out?" She paused her spoon's route.

"I checked my messages just after we'd landed. There was an email from Detective Delaney." He scooped up a rather large mushroom.

"We've always thought we could get a confession out of him if we pushed the right buttons," she said, returning the spoon to the bowl. "Davey's being held at Garrison Penitentiary – that's close enough to Salt Lake that we could head over there."

Hotch nodded, his bowl nearly empty. "I think I'll have to at the very least. Or send Rossi. The evidence against him was never very strong, and his lawyer's good enough to be pulling holes and making them bigger. The prosecutor needs a confession; otherwise he could end up walking free."

She winced at the thought. Richard Davey had stalked, raped and tortured five women over a seven year period. If he was freed, he would be likely to return to his murderous habits. "When do you propose to go?"

"We'll assess the situation in Salt Lake and come up with a profile. As soon as that's done, either one or two of us will head over to Garrison. Davey's lawyer is pushing an appeal through as quickly as he can, as within the next twenty-eight days," Hotch said. "Anyway, we're talking about work. Tell me something about you that I don't know."

She shot him a look of bemusement. There was nothing like being put on the spot. "There's a lot about me you don't know, Aaron Hotchner," she warned. "And lots of it are things you shouldn't know. It could ruin the fairytale."

His eyes danced as he laughed. "I'll refine the question."

She groaned. This could not end well - being questioned by an ex-prosecutor.

"Which subject did you hate most at school?" he said. She felt her shoulders relax with relief. It could have been a lot worse.

"English. Not the literature part, but the writing part. I hated having to use my imagination and write stories and made-up articles and crap like that. What about you? I can imagine you were straight A's in everything." She picked the spoon up again and continued to eat as she waited for his answer.

He looked deep in thought for a moment. "Probably geography; more specifically political geography. I didn't mind climate, and the physical aspects, but I wasn't interested in migration and population. It seemed irrelevant at the time."

"But you still got the highest marks in your class," Emily said pointedly. "Am I wrong?"

He looked at her for a second then shook his head, clearly having decided not to try and wheedle his way out of the question. "But _you_ also left high school as class valedictorian, so you hardly failed English, even if you disliked it."

"Isn't there some rule for prosecutors that they're not allowed to use their training out of working hours?" she said, finishing off what was in the bowl. She saw him smile. "Question for you: who was your first crush?"

"Debbie Harry from Blondie," he didn't hesitate to answer. "Who was yours?"

Emily paused, considering the question. "I think Simon Le Bon from Duran Duran was my first proper crush. I remember my mother making me take down posters of him from my walls as she was showing someone round the house for some reason. That was the day when I tried to run away for the third time that year."

Hotch didn't smile this time. "What stopped you?"

"My grandmother phoned as I was about to sneak out and told me that she was coming to stay with us for a few weeks. I went back upstairs and unpacked. My mother never knew about it," she said, surprised she was telling him about this. Her childhood seemed like a lifetime and a half ago, and it was rare she thought about the time before she was fifteen, let alone spoke about it. "Did you ever leave home?"

He shifted his eyes sway from her, and she realised she had touched on a sore spot, however much scar tissue was hiding it. "I'll give Areva a shout and let her know we're ready for the main course," he said softly. She filed away the topic, knowing that there was more to discover, he just wasn't ready to let her yet.

A rather plump woman in tradition Thai dress, but with the same Texan lilt to her voice as her husband brought them out what looked like a mountain of noodles. Its sweet, lemony fragrance was simple and plain, but managed to snatch her attention from the man who was now sat across from her once more.

"You were right," she said after having a couple of mouthfuls. "This place is good."

"Kasem used to have a restaurant in Texas, hence the strange accent. He moved there fifty years ago after stowing away on a boat. I met him nine years ago when I was working a case down there. Five weeks after the case had closed I walked down this street on the way to meet someone, and saw this place. It had the same name as his restaurant in Texas," Hotch said while Emily ate.

"Why did he move?" She eyed his plate, and assessed the chances of him leaving any.

Hotch shrugged. "I suspect he wanted a change."

"So," Emily said, trying to slow down the pace at which she was eating. "Tell me the name of a teacher you liked."

He didn't avoid the question this time. "I lied to you before. My first crush wasn't Debbie Harry. It was Miss Melling, my third grade teacher. She looked like a fairytale princess and I was besotted by her. She was kind too. I remember emptying my money box at the end of the year to buy her a really nice present. I left it on her desk at recess so she wouldn't know who it was from." He looked wistful, and Emily shifted her leg under the table to make contact with his. "What about you?"

"I had a governess called Alison for a short time when I was seven or eight and we were living in the Middle East. She was British, and very young. I thought she looked like Snow White and I couldn't take my eyes off her. She left very soon after she started, although I never knew why as my mother would never say. My other crush was on a high school teacher in senior year. He was Mr Clarke and he looked like superman. I remember sending him a valentine's card which he put up in his classroom," she said, unable to remember the last time anyone had been interested in her memories, and by the way he held her eyes with his gaze she could tell he was interested.

It was past ten o'clock by the time Hotch had paid for dinner, and they'd left the little room for the windy streets of the city. The jazz could still be heard, the sounds of the saxophone kissing the night.

"Where are you parked?" Hotch said, pulling his coat tightly around him.

"I didn't drive," Emily said. "I wanted the exercise and I like the city at this time. I was intending on taking a cab back. There's a taxi rank two blocks away."

"I'll drive you home," he said. She didn't argue. His tone told her that he had made up his mind, and besides, it would save her some the hassle. She'd also get to spend a last few minutes with him, before they reverted back to their agent-selves.

His car was a short walk away, parked just about legally. She slid into the passenger seat without speaking, taking off her coat and letting the atmosphere between them continue to cook. He was playing a jazz artist she didn't recognise, their voice sultry and haunting, not unlike the songs she had heard from the nearby bar.

"Is this music by a local group?" she said, as he drove out of the city into the suburbs towards her apartment.

"It's the resident quartet at the place around the corner from where were eating," he said. "I'll take you to see them sometime."

The butterflies that had taken over her insides sometime ago flipped a little flight of excitement at the hint he'd like to see her again in a non-work capacity. She'd thought as much; he would never have suggested or agreed to tonight if he'd had thought that this was a short thing, but they could quite easily have left it where it was and gone back to work tomorrow, as colleagues and never anything more.

"I'd like that," she said, making sure he knew she reciprocated the desire. "But we have to have pizza at mine first."

He glanced at her, taking his eyes of the road for a split second. "Sure," he said. "Or we could eat at the bar."

She nodded. Maybe having him in her apartment wasn't such a good idea for a short while. "I'll pay next time."

"Why?"

"Because you paid tonight. Or are you going to come over all Neanderthal and refuse to let me get my wallet out?" Emily watched his reaction, knowing that she would find it amusing. She had guessed he would want to pay; it was part of being an alpha male.

"I am definitely a Neanderthal in that respect," he said, stopping for lights. "I enjoy the feeling of having provided." He looked at her again, and this time she felt colour coming to her cheeks. She wanted to ask him in for a coffee, or something stronger, but she knew where it would lead. "You're not offended by it, are you?"

It was a question he already knew the answer to, and he was just being polite. "Aaron," she said, letting her hand squeeze his knee. Aside from the leg brushing under the table, it was the first physical contact they'd had that evening. "I don't mind at all. I just don't want you to think I'm taking advantage."

He laughed, and this time it was at her. "Why would I think that?"

She shrugged, not wanting to go into detail about previous dates, where her supposed knight in shining armour had demanded that she pay, as they'd either left their wallet at home, knew who she was, or had just been fired and therefore had no funds.

He pulled up outside her apartment block and turned off the engine. She felt awkwardness eclipse them, and pushed her hair back from her face as she looked at him. "I want to ask you in for a coffee, or a glass of wine, but I don't know if this is the right time."

He nodded, and she saw the same conflicting thoughts crossing his face. "I think I should wait here, and see you turn the light on in your bedroom so I know you're in safely," he said.

"This isn't a real first date, Hotch. We've known each other long enough, and we're both adults who are compos mentis..." She knew she was lacking in will power.

He unclipped his seat belt and leant over to her, putting a hand behind her head and entwining his fingers in her hair. She closed the distance between them, her own arms wrapping around his torso.

There was restraint in his kiss, and in the way he held her. She could feel passion underneath his skin, bubbling up within his veins and she felt proud that it was her who was causing that. The kiss deepened as she ran her hand under his shirt and jacket, and he pulled her closer to him, her knee knocking against the handbrake.

"Sorry," he murmured, before reclaiming her. There was an insistence behind the softness, a toughness that she knew she was matching. And then he began to slow it down, and she became conscious of the effect he was having on her body, even though his hands had never strayed from her hair and her back.

"Aaron," she said, a whisper, as his piles moved a centimetre from hers. She opened her eyes and looked into his, feeling the grip of his fingers on his waist, underneath the sweater she was wearing. She saw the need in them, and knew it was mirrored in her own. "Come back to mine."

"Not tonight," he said.

"You want to add Josephine on the end of that?"

He grinned and she felt his laughter. "I haven't made out in a car for years," he said, studying her. She felt suddenly self conscious, knowing that her lips would be swollen, her lipstick smudged, and two potentially visible signs on her chest of the effect he'd had on her. He kissed her again, this time it was less demanding, sweeter, with just a subtle hint of fire. "If I come back to yours I won't be able to think of anything else tomorrow." His voice was little more than a murmur, his breath stroking her skin like butterfly wings. "I need it to be a night when I don't have to be restrained the next day. I'm only so good at putting on a mask." His hands left her waist and grazed up her sides, enflaming her skin. His thumbs brushed the sides of her breasts through her bra and she wondered if he noticed the shiver that went through her.

"You know, Hotchner," she said, when she trusted herself to be able to speak without her voice wavering. "It had better be good after all this." She pulled away, inhaling deeply, her body screaming in protest.

She heard him laugh as she closed the door, and then had to reopen it to grab her coat. "I'll see you tomorrow. I'm now going to try and sleep."

"Same here," he said, his voice still controlled and unflustered, whereas hers, she knew, couldn't conceal what she was feeling right now. She wanted to make him lose that control. "See you tomorrow."

She closed the door again, and made her way into her apartment block and up the stairs, trying to burn off some unspent energy. Once the alarm had been deactivated, she headed straight for her bedroom, flicking on the light and looking out of the window. She saw Hotch's car lights come back on, and he drove off slowly, having waiting for the sign that she was inside and safe. She remained at the window, watching the leaves dancing around outside to a tune that was all their own and tasting Aaron Hotchner on her lips.

* * *

Derek Morgan slipped quietly out from under the covers and pulled on clothes that had been discarded in a hurry. He wanted to get home, get some sleep, and get out of Jacey's apartment before her sister showed up drunk again, alternately demanding that he fix up something more permanent with Jacey, or started sleeping with her.

He felt oddly dissatisfied as he glanced at the sleeping woman. Jacey didn't turn to where he had been lay and reach for him, or call out his name like you might see in the movies. She was oblivious to his vacating, and Morgan knew that for her, it was easy if he wasn't there in the morning. What they had wasn't a morning thing. What they had wasn't really a thing at all – there was certainly no substance to it, apart from physical. And convenience. She was a managing director of a medium sized business with no time to find or carry out a relationship, and no real desire to do so either. And for him; she was attractive and available and uncomplicated.

So why was he restless?

He closed the apartment door gently and made his way down the stairs, knowing that the sister would take the lift. It was a short walk to the place where he'd left his car, and he hoped that the night's cold air would soothe him a little, provide him with some solace.

As he reached his car he heard voices arguing and then a cry. Backing up, he peered down the alleyway he'd ignored and saw a couple, the man pinning the woman up against the wall.

"You wanna back down?" Morgan said, pulling out his credentials and flashing them, his other hand already on his weapon.

"It's fine, it's fine," the woman said. It clearly wasn't. Tears were streaming down her face, and even in the dim light he could see she was panicked.

The man released his grip on her. "See," he said, holding up both of his palms in surrender. "She says it's fine. She just likes it a bit rough. Now you've interrupted us, we'll just take it back to our apartment."

He wasn't what Morgan would class as a typical thug. He wore a suit, now in slight disarray, which looked expensive. He was older, in his late forties, and the woman was only slightly younger. She was attractive, her hair expensive styled, and Morgan recognised her from Jacey's apartment block. If he wasn't mistaken, she was a stockbroker and had another apartment in New York.

"You sure you're okay?" Morgan said, knowing that she wasn't. Her sobs had calmed now, and she had regained some composure.

"I'm fine. We just got carried away," she said. "It's no problem. Have a good evening." He nodded, and walked to his car, making an issue of fiddling with his wing mirror while they walked away, the man's hand now around her waist.

Morgan felt consumed with frustration. He knew what the scenario would be when they got back to her apartment. He knew what the man would do to her. There would be bruises where no one would see for days afterwards, and yet she would still apologise, believing him when he said it was all her fault, too scared to push him away for good.

He got into his car and drove home, a bad taste in his mouth lingering. One he knew would not go away.

-----------------

_I hope this lives up to any expectations you may have had. Please drop me a line – it'll keep me motivated. Updates will be every other day, or every three days depending on how much socialising my other half makes me do over the Christmas season!_

_I've also written a one shot based on Hotch and Emily, that's a sequel to this (!) called __**After the Darkness.**__ It's only short, but if you read it, please let me know what you think!_

_Reviews are adored as much as chocolates off the Christmas tree!_

_Sarah x_


	2. Chapter 2

_I have quite a few thank you for this chapter._

_Firstly, __**Bellagirl008, **__who has given me A LOT of inspiration for the UnSub – not that it will be based on her. Thank you Bella, and I'm so pleased you did so well in your exams x_

_**Chiroho, **__thank you, you have helped me immensely with the time details. My brain will not work that way, living in a country with only one time zone!_

_**Juliette Tomassino, **__so much information about Utah and Salt Lake. Thank you so much!_

_And thank you to __**Kavi Leighanna **__for the beta and read through!_

_And a MASSIVE thank you to everyone who has reviewed Chapter One and the oneshot **After the Darkness**!_

_And now on with the show!!_

**Humanity**

"Individually, we are one drop. Together, we are an ocean."

- Ryunosuke Satoro

**Chapter Two**

It was a familiar scene; all of them – bar Rossi – stretched out on the seats, reading through the case file and each becoming immersed in their own interpretation of the crime they were studying. Reid glanced around at his colleagues, needing a break from autopsy reports and grim descriptions of savagery inflicted by a supposed human.

It was a four and a half hour flight in total, from Washington to Salt Lake City, Utah, and they were half an hour in. Hotch had sent messages that morning, instructing them to meet on the jet at noon, giving everyone enough time to have a fairly relaxed morning, pack and organise any personal arrangements. From glancing at everyone's faces, the short break had done them good, and they all looked fresher than they had upon leaving Calverville Point. He glanced back down at the file; they were going to need to feel fresher if they were to have any chance of catching this UnSub quickly. A briefing would take place once they were at the station where they would be based, and Rossi had joined them.

Reid's attention was caught by movement from Emily. She was sat across from Hotch, and diagonally opposite Reid, with the aisle in between them, the aisle in which her legs were now occupying at full stretch.

"You okay?" Hotch asked, looking up from the file also. Reid had already noticed that he looked more calm than usual. He remembered that he and Prentiss had been out for something to eat together the night before, and from studying them, it had gone well.

"Just needed to stretch. At least Rossi's not in the way this time," she said, smiling, before her eyes retreated to the file. "This isn't the prettiest of cases. I think it's fair to say we're dealing with a sick son of a bastard."

"It's interesting that he's attacking men and women. That's quite unusual," Reid said, pleased that someone was speaking. He wasn't in the mood to be silent today for some reason. He felt as if he needed company, and he put that down to the possibility that he was missing Katie. They had spoken briefly on the phone once he'd gotten home last night, but it had been different, strange and almost forced. There was no way they could sustain anything long distance, and both of them knew it, so they were both starting to let go.

"It suggests that there is something in his past where he has been let down by an older male and female, likely to be grandparents," Hotch turned over a couple of pages. "Or people in the role of grandparents."

Reid glanced down the summary page. He'd gone straight to the autopsy reports once the ordeal of take off was over, wanting to get the worst out of the way. Very few of them read through the file in the order it was given to them; Emily read the police reports first, the descriptions of how the bodies were found; Hotch started with comparing family backgrounds, locations – victimology; Morgan followed a similar pattern to Hotch, looking for opportunities for the UnSub within the victims' routines and Rossi read the file from start to finish in the order it was given. He wasn't as much of a maverick as he liked to believe.

"The first and second victims weren't murdered," Reid said, noticing that Morgan was looking away from the file and out of the window, oblivious to the conversation that had begun. "Janice Allen, aged 78, was raped and left unconscious on November 17th, 2005. A letter of apology was received three days later. Another rape, this time of a man, Gerald Morris, occurred on October 18th, 2006. A similar letter was received five days later. Copies of the letters haven't been included – do we know if they still exist?" He looked at Hotch who was frowning.

"Detective Barry confirmed they had them there, he'd just been unable to get them out of the archives quick enough. He'll have them ready for us when we arrive," Hotch said. "Gerald Morris' attack was very similar to that of Janice Allen's. He was too frail to defend himself, and was left unconscious due to a blow on the head. It was while he was unconscious that he was sexually assaulted. He died four months later."

Reid pulled a piece of paper from his file. The title of which had caught his eye upon flicking through the file earlier. Now seemed like a good time to read it properly. "It was three months after Morris' attack that the UnSub wrote to George Mulliner, who is serving life in West Bountiful, describing his attacks and comparing them to Mulliner's murders of three elderly women in the late 1980's." He paused, while Emily, Hotch and JJ pulled out the same sheet.

"'_Dear George,'" _Emily began. "_'It's been a_ _long time since we last spoke, and back then I wasn't too understanding. I thought you'd like to hear about my latest exploits as I'm pretty sure they'll meet with your approval. You were right when you said that a frail body contains more power to take than a younger one. I think it was some Chinese proverb or something that said something about age owning the power of years. If that's true, then I took some of that power away last night. She was terrified when she saw me; couldn't get her words out. Then I grabbed her throat and forced her down onto the bed. It was unmade. I could feel the rubbery incontinence sheet underneath...'" _Emily looked up. "And it continues, as we can all read. He's writing to Mulliner as if he knows him."

Reid studied the letter further for a second then looked over at Emily and then Hotch. "It's not unusual for someone suffering from delusions to believe they have a relationship with someone they are unknown to, but we can't discount the possibility that Mulliner does know the UnSub."

"We will have to interview George Mulliner sooner rather than later," Hotch said, casting a concerned look over at Morgan. "Derek, is everything okay?" The question hung in the air as Morgan continued to stare out of the window, the open file on his lap.

"I'm fine, Hotch. Just a little whacked, that's all. I am listening," Morgan said, briefly looking at his boss.

"We're all tired, but we could do with your input here," Hotch said. Reid wasn't surprised at his words, but his tone was more gentle than he had expected, more mellow, and the glance he cast Morgan was less stern than it could have been.

"Sorry, Hotch," Morgan sounded distant, and this time Hotch's glance was worried. Reid wondered whether he should speak with Morgan once they were at the hotel, or whether Morgan would consider it intrusive. Although if it were Reid who was acting this way, Morgan would almost certainly have something to say about it.

"The UnSub's obviously intelligent," JJ folded the letter back into the file, seemingly not wanting to continue reading his words. "He's extremely literate. And there are three more letters as well. Seems he's enjoying his role as pen pal."

Reid pulled out the other letters, skimming through them as the others continued to discuss the skeletal facts of the case. He would consider the UnSub's words more carefully later, trying to piece sentences together like small bits of a jigsaw puzzle.

"Elsie Norwood was assaulted on August 20th 2007. She never regained consciousness, although the report suggests that her death was due to the wounds and her frail state, rather than murder as the MO was the same as the previous two attacks," Emily said, removing her legs from the aisle and tucking them under her. "After that, he sends two more letters to George Mulliner; one just after Elsie's death and the second immediately following a failed attack on a man living in warden-controlled apartments. He's developed a routine."

Hotch nodded. "An attack, followed by a letter to the victim, then a letter to George Mulliner. He's even written to the victims he's killed: Marjorie Heys on April 23rd this year; and Alberto Costas four days ago."

"And all the letters apologise for what he has done, but they are without remorse. It's almost as if he thinks that these people _had_ to have been killed. Here's what he wrote to Marjorie Heys: "_I apologise for the pain you had to go through, but they was no other way. I'm sorry for your family, and the upset they will feel, but it will teach them that life cannot be lived without knowing darkness, and then they will appreciate the light."_ He's certainly not asking for forgiveness," Reid said, closing the file. He'd already taken the crime scene photos out to look at: that was his next task.

"Maybe he sees himself as an Angel of Mercy," Morgan said, the first time he had really shown any interest in what they were discussing. "His victims are all older, in care homes or in accommodation that is supervised. He may have been subjected to seeing a grandparent suffer for a long time as a child."

"That doesn't explain the rape," Emily sat forward and Reid noticed that her leg was brushing Hotch's under the table. It was a discreet gesture, and he doubted that anyone else would have picked up on it, but it surprised him. He would have thought that their intentions would have been to keep their personal affiliations as far away from the job as possible, but maybe they just couldn't help themselves. Reid felt a shred of envy; he'd never known that compulsion. "Angels of Mercy don't tend to have a sexual element in their crimes. Both Harold Shipman and John Bodkin Adams killed around three hundred people between them, but there were no signs of sexual assault in any of the cases. In the case of Shipman, however, he did kill for material gains as well as power."

Reid saw Morgan's expression freeze slightly. He wasn't engaged in this case yet, which was unusual for him. Normally, he drove into everything with gusto, but today he was distracted and off-centre. "The UnSub seems to fit the type of a Hedonistic Power/Control serial killer; someone who is killing for pleasure, but also seeking to regain power that was taken away from them as a child. I would imagine that he's been abused by an older relative at some point."

Hotch nodded at Reid, giving his agreement, while Morgan looked out of the window. Emily had began to read through the police reports and JJ was now writing something down, probably a list of people she needed to speak with in the local media as she also had out her little contact book, which she favoured instead of a handheld device as it never lost power.

The crime scene photos were not the worst Reid had seen, and for that he was thankful. He had been brought up, like most other people, to have respect for people's age, even if he had no respect for their views or ideas. And these people, in the photographs, were too frail to have even tried to defend themselves.

"This isn't right," JJ said, having put her contact book away. "How can someone gain pleasure from hurting people that are so defenceless? Can you imagine what they must have gone through?" Reid looked up at her. She was studying the photos of the victims before they had been attacked; three men and three women in individual pictures, all sat looking happy.

"It would have been terrifying," Emily put the file down on the seat next to her. "The fear they would have felt."

"That would have been exciting for him," Reid said. "He's clearly devolving. With the first three attacks he didn't attempt to kill them. It was only after the failed attempt on James Jones that he strangled them after."

Hotch leaned onto the table, various pieces of paper spread out in front of him. "It's possible that the interruption during his attack on James Jones fuelled his anger. It's also possible that the death of Elsie Norwood gave him a further sense of power. We know from the statements given by Janice Allen, Gerald Morris and James Jones that there are no recognisable features with which to identify him. His face was covered with a black ski mask and he wore leather gloves. He's been careful to not leave any evidence behind." His face was grim, and Reid could tell that this was going to be another of those cases where the UnSub had left them very little to go on.

He studied the photographs of the injuries sustained by the victims; they had all taken a blow to the head and had severe bruising around the chest area. Older skin bruised easily, and Reid had never seen so many different shades of black and blue before. The two victims who had been murdered had been left on their backs, their arms and legs splayed out, exposing everything that had been done to them. The latest victim, Alberto Costas, had had his genitalia mutilated, although the stab marks seemed too precise to be frenzied. They were controlled. The UnSub had had a plan and followed it.

"The victims' residences are spread out across three counties; Salt Lake, Tooele and Utah. Three of the attacks have been in Salt Lake, two in Tooele, and one in Utah. We should have Garcia check to see if there have been any similar attacks in other counties," Reid said. "And check the neighbouring states as well, particularly Nevada as it's easy to get to from Salt Lake. Highway 80 leads straight into Reno."

"JJ," Hotch began to pull the sheets of paper back together. "Can you contact Penelope and ask her to check for assaults and murders with similar MO's with what – a four hundred mile radius to begin with? She's already trying to pull information on all of the victims. There may be something that connects them other than their age."

"Sure," JJ nodded. "I've arranged a press conference as soon as we get there. The media have been kicking up a small hurricane, and there have been reports of families taking relatives out of care homes. In the past few days there have been four reported incidents of elderly people being taken into hospital as the wrong medication was given by relatives. One died."

"We need to play this down as much as we can." Hotch stood up, discreetly stretching. The attacks are spread out over a fairly long period of time. Unless something happens to trigger the UnSub's devolution, then we could be waiting months before he strikes again. We need the media on our side. They could easily escalate the UnSub's actions by turning him into a folk devil. From his letters, we can guess the UnSub feels his actions are justified because of something that has happened in his past. If he see the media as berating him then the length of time between murders will become shorter and his actions more violent. We must make sure the press understand this."

The plane fell silent once more, Hotch walking down the aisle to the coffee machine. Reid noticed that Morgan was now reading through the file, looking as if he was trying to lose himself in it, but failing. He would speak to him later, although he knew that his words might not be welcomed. He continued to look through the family details of each of the victims. All had children, and grandchildren. This wasn't surprising. All had grandsons of around the same age. That was more unusual.

"Hotch," Reid said. "Each of the victims has got a grandson or great-grandson between the ages of ten and fifteen. That's more than coincidence."

"In which case the UnSub has found out information about his victims prior to the attack. That could mean he's got connections with the property or staff. We'll get Garcia cross-referencing names and companies used by each nursing home and sheltered accommodation," Hotch said. "We should land at Salt Lake City in around three hours. That makes it five pm in Washington and 3pm in Salt Lake. Rossi will be there already. Use this time to get as familiar as you can with all aspects."

His last sentence was a dismissal, a suggestion that the formal discussion of the case would recommence when they got to their destination. Taking a last glance at Morgan, Reid began to let himself be swallowed in the details, the minutiae, of the deeds of the latest nightmarish monster they needed to catch.

* * *

_August 1978_

_Willow Springs, _

_Tooele County, Utah_

_The pebble skimmed the water six times before it eventually sank, a lone bubble rising to the surface as a last gasp for life. Lee sat down by the banks of the small lake and fingered the dusty sand. It was too hot, the air too dry, and he almost felt as if he was going to suffocate. If his mom had been there, she'd have let him go swimming, let him go into that cool, cool water. He scratched the tops of his feet, noticing the small red spots. Last night his Nana had put lotion on them which had helped stopped the itching, but she'd forgotten this morning, too busy baking cakes and muffins for the minister who was meant to call round after Sunday service._

_A lizard scuttled passed him, unbothered by the small boy with the sulky look on his face. It dashed under a rock, where there was shade and probably a few beetles to eat. Lee wished he could sit under a rock and get out of the way of the sun. He'd wanted to go play at his friend Larry's house. Larry had a TV, and they could have watched cartoons, but Nana didn't like cartoons on a Sunday, she thought they were ungodly, and she especially didn't like Larry. So Lee was alone._

_He stood up, kicking the dust with his foot and making a big cloud which chocked him and spewed dirt onto his shorts and shirt. Nana wouldn't be pleased; it was his Sunday best. Once the dust had settled he blinked a few times, and wiped at his eyes, then headed off around the side of the lake to the quarry. He really wasn't meant to go there; it was out of bounds as Nana and Grandfather said it was dangerous, but he sometimes snuck off there. Years ago, Grandfather had said, they'd dug through the stone looking for gold, but hadn't found much. Grandfather had told him stories at bedtime about the men who had lost their lives for their greed, but Lee was certain that there must still be gold there. So he went hunting it._

_The quarry was deep and sandy, beams of rock hanging over head with the odd weedy tree attempting life. Grandfather would sometimes come out here and shoot rabbits, but never on a Sunday. Never on the day of rest. The day of boredom. Crickets chirped constantly in the background, although Lee had never managed to find one to watch it rubbing its legs together. The sounded now, a dead lullaby against the hot silence._

_He walked around the edge of the quarry, kicking the dust and throwing rocks over the sides. It was too deep to hear them hit the ground below. He wondered what it would be like to be bird and fly over it, what he would see down there. Would there be skulls and bones, the remainders of those people who died looking for gold? Would there be glimmers of precious stones and metal, shining underneath the dust? He could find them and take them back. Then Grandfather would be pleased with him, and he might not hurt him anymore._

_Another sound echoed as well as the crickets and Lee turned around suddenly, recognising it. He stood up, preparing to run and hoping that he could grow a bird's wings very, very quickly._

_But instead he stood still, wishing that Sundays meant there could be no beatings, as well as no work or television. He looked up, seeing a hawk dive down to kill its prey._

* * *

_This chapter took ages to do, even though it's not that long! I hope it reads okay, as it wasn't written very smoothly._

_Have a lovely Christmas, and I'll either be updating on the 25th or 26th, depending on how much eggnog I consume!!!_

_Feedback would be very much appreciated as usual._

_Sarah x_


	3. Chapter 3

_Thank you to __**Kavi Leighanna **__for reading through this and picking up on couple of Englishisms!! There is more Hotch/Prentiss to follow – trust me – but I need to give time to the case, otherwise it just becomes a fluff fic, which are wonderful, only this is fluff+case!_

_Thank you to my reviewers from Chapter Two, I appreciate the time you took to let me know what you thought. Reviews were down a lot on the last chapter – maybe it's because of the holiday season, maybe people don't like the case – please let me know and I can fix it if something's wrong._

_Hope you enjoy, and you've all had a good Christmas/break/rest!!_

**Humanity**

"We must not make a scarecrow of the law,

Setting it up to fear the birds of prey,

And let it keep one shape till custom make it

Their perch, and not their terror."

- William Shakespeare, _Measure for Measure, _Act II, Scene i

**Chapter Three**

"_Sweet Caroline, good times never felt so good..."_

Emily turned the volume down on the car stereo, hoping that Officer Diamond would decide to curb his enthusiasm for singing. It would have been rude to turn the stereo completely off, but she was being pushed to the point of being rude.

She and Morgan were on their way to the last crime scene, that of Alberto Costas, at the Cedar Mount Residential Care Home in Mount Springs, a small town just south of Salt Lake City. They'd been met by Detective Barry, from the Salt Lake county police, and his counterparts from Utah and Tooele counties. Almost immediately, Hotch had been drawn into a political issue that had arose, and Emily had been glad of the opportunity to escape the debates and head off with Morgan. Or she had been at first. Morgan was saying as little as possible, preoccupied by a grey thundercloud that was colouring his mood, and Officer Diamond – she couldn't remember his actually name – was going through Neil Diamond's back catalogue. Now she wished she'd stayed and debated politics with Hotch.

"It should be another couple of miles, shouldn't it?" she said, glancing at the officer who was mouthing away to _Sweet Caroline, _which was currently on repeat.

"Yeah, it's about that," he said, glancing at his own reflection in the rear view mirror. "It was a gruesome scene, but I 'spect you're used to that, aren't you?"

"I don't think you ever get used to it," she caught sight of Morgan looking through his cell and wondered if he was having woman worries. If he was, it would be the first time.

"And I suppose it's worse for you, being a lady an' all. Him in the back – he'd be able to stomach it. But with your delicate nature an' all, it must be tough." His drawl began to irritate her as much as his words and she resisted the urge to whip him with an almighty barrage of words.

"You are joking, aren't you?" she said, not being able to help the glare her eyes lasered. He wasn't married, or rather his ring finger was empty, and she wasn't surprised.

He glanced at her, complete wonderment on his face. "No. Why would I be?"

She let it go, not needing a battle with the only person around he knew how to get them back to Greenhill Street Station where they were based. "What did you notice about the crime scene?" she said, wanting to change the subject, and it was clear from his silence that Morgan wasn't going to help, even if he was aware of what was going on.

"You sure you want to hear me talk about things like this? Shouldn't I be discussing it with your partner?" His thumb pointed over his shoulder to Morgan.

"Like you've said. I'll have seen much worse," she said, keeping her voice flat so as not to betray her annoyance.

He sighed, driving a little too quickly on roads which had just been kissed by a gentle snowfall. "He was lay on his back with no clothes on. His arms were spread out and his legs too, so you could, you know, see everything." Officer Diamond swallowed loudly and looked a little pale. "It was the look on his face that was worse. It was as if he'd seen the grim reaper or something. It was terror, that's what it were like, like he'd seem something so bad it had scarred his eyes."

"Was there anything else in the room that stood out?" Emily glazed over his attempt at shocking her with description.

"The window was open," Officer Diamond said. "Which was weird with it being cold outside, an' all. He must've come in that way because there were ornaments on the window sill that had been knocked over. Apart from that, it was just the blood, really. Never seen anything like it."

She was sure he hadn't, and that with any luck – for him and whatever investigation it was – he wouldn't ever again. She noticed a sign for the care home and sent a silent thanks to whichever god was on duty at that moment.

The home was set back off a wide road with views across Salt Lake itself towards Antelope Island State Park. It was an overly formalised building, build probably ten years ago but given a colonial style that didn't match the materials that had been used, and was completely out of character with the other nearby buildings. However, its size and grandiosity did make it look impressive, and for someone with money, it would appear to be a fine place for an elderly relative to spend their end of days.

Officer Diamond pulled up in front of the main doors, making no move to get out of the vehicle himself. "Ask for Liserl," he said. "I'll wait here. I don't want to go in that room again."

Emily nodded and opened the car door into the cold air. Utah, more specifically Salt Lake City, had been home to the Winter Olympics not too long ago, and boasted 'the greatest snow on earth'. She could testify that it was indeed good, having skied there before this job had erased such weekend jaunts and vacations.

It was a double door that she went through, its wood recently treated. Morgan followed closely behind, passing no comment. His silence was beginning to concern her. "Which pussy's got you tongue?" she said in an undertone as they approached reception.

"What?" he said, as if having just been woken up.

"What's with the silence? I could have done with some help in the car from that sexist idiot of an officer." She rang the bell for assistance as nobody was at the desk.

Morgan shook his head slightly. "Sorry, Prentiss. I was a million miles away." He looked around, and she saw his indecision about the place. "Is this place for real?"

She nodded. "It appears to be so, Derek. Not sure I'm feeling it though."

He picked up a brochure and thumbed through it. "They even have a suite that's done out 1940's style, to help people who're suffering from memory loss. Jeez – have you seen the price?"

She craned over his shoulder, her eyebrows rising when she saw the cost per week. "That's a _lot_ of money."

"I guess it eases the guilt," Morgan said, scepticism oozing from him.

Emily studied him for a moment. "I disagree. I imagine that most people would care for elderly relatives themselves, if they could, but there are several reasons why they might not be able to do so."

Morgan shrugged, his eyes darkening.

"Derek; you need to snap out of this mood right away. Whatever you've eaten; spit it out, because it's turning my stomach as well as yours." She turned her back on him, facing the reception desk just as a young blonde arrived there.

"Sorry to keep you waiting. How can I help?" she asked, in a polished accent that sounded as false as her eyelashes looked.

"Agent Emily Prentiss and Agent Derek Morgan, we're here with the FBI," she said, flashing her identification. "We need to speak with a Liserl."

The blonde nodded before scuttling away into the back.

"She's not got something to hide," Morgan said, looking a little more like he usually did. Emily felt a little pressure ease from her. She had been worried that her words would have caused Morgan's mood to become even worse, but he seemed to be trying to snap out of it.

"Agent Morgan and Prentiss?" an older woman almost raced to them. "Officer Lilley said you were coming to see the crime scene. We've kept it as it was, although we do need to get things back to normal here as soon as possible."

Emily nodded her understanding, following the woman up a wide flight of stairs that would look more appropriate at some mansion where a debutantes' ball was being held.

"Who discovered Mr Costas' body?" Morgan said, keeping up with Liserl. Emily hung back, letting Morgan take the lead. Liserl's eye contact had mainly been with Morgan so far, so Emily was content with Morgan instigating the conversation.

"It was Angela, one of our carers. He has a first floor room, and we have no idea of how someone managed to get in there without being seen," Liserl said, coming to a pause at the top of the stairs.

"You have security cameras on all the exits?" Morgan said, one hand still on the elaborately carved handrail.

Liserl nodded. "And reception is manned constantly. We deal with a lot of elderly people suffering from Alzheimer's here, and they may have a tendency to wander, especially during the night, so we have a heavy staff presence twenty-four seven. Alberto's room is just this way."

The corridor was wide with large windows intermittently along one side, and reproductions of famous pictures in elaborate gilt frames in between bedroom doors. Even with shoes on, the carpet felt plush under Emily's feet, the deep red intermingled with flecks of gold. She could see where the money went that was paid by the residents.

They stopped at room 8; Liserl pulling out a single master key and unlocking the door. She stood outside while Emily and Morgan went in, the room heaving with death.

The window had obviously been closed. Emily headed straight to it, pulling on gloves before pulling back the curtain and looking out. The room was next to a single story kitchen, and it would have been a straightforward matter for a fit adult to clamber up onto the roof of the kitchen and tap on the window.

"Alberto let him in," Emily said. "There would have been knocking at the window. He would have opened it up and looked out to see what it was. Then the UnSub could have knocked him backwards and entered the room, beginning the attack." She made the UnSub's possible gestures, linking them to the detritus that lay around the window area.

Morgan nodded, looking across the room as if seeing the attack take place. "Then he forced him over to the bed, forcing him down. The preliminary autopsy report suggests that Alberto was unconscious before the sexual assault occurred. He sustained a blow to the head caused by a blunt object." Morgan scanned the floor. "There's nothing that could be classified as a blunt object here. The UnSub must have brought a weapon with him."

"Shows he's organised," Emily said, picking up a photo from a bookcase. It was a picture of Alberto Costas and a woman who looked to be his wife, taken at least thirty years previously. It saddened her, a pool of sorrow and grief welling up. She pushed it into a box with the intention of dealing with it later. "The murder took place between one thirty am and two. I can't see anyone being around the back at that time. The kitchen would certainly be empty, and lights would be off. We should go downstairs and look outside."

Morgan nodded, stepping back from the bed that was still stained with the old man's blood. "There could be another reason for the length of time between the attacks," he said. "The UnSub was stalking his victims. We should see if there's a point nearby that gives a good view into this room."

Emily led the way out, finding Liserl still stood outside, speaking on the phone. She ended her conversation briefly but not abruptly. "Did you find anything? I'm probably not meant to ask that, am I?"

"We know he entered through the window," Morgan said. "We'd like to have a look around the back."

The nod was brief, her haunted expression giving away her feelings. "I'm still in shock about what's happened," she said, leading them to another, less grand, flight of stairs. "We thought we were so safe here in this – this... palace, and then this happens to Alberto. And he was such a lovely man, even when he had one of his episodes, he was still gentle and polite. He used to think I was a secretary he used to have." Her eyes brimmed with tears Emily knew she hadn't spent yet.

They followed her outside, immediately seeing the lake in the distance and the island. It was a beautiful view, one that more than made up for the architectural mistakes of the house. Emily walked the perimeter of the kitchen building, noticing the traditional smells of roast beef and gravy coming from the vents. It made her feel hungry and she gave a brief glance to her watch to check the time. It was four-thirty, local time, making it half six in Washington, and definitely dinner time. An image of last night's supper popped into her head and she pushed it away, not letting memories of Thai food and making out in her boss' car distract her, because right now, he was her boss. Not Aaron. "Morgan!" Emily shouted. Morgan was standing near a wooden building, that would've been a shed but for its size. It looked to be where the gardeners kept their equipment.

"Prentiss?" he said, striding over.

"He climbed up there," she pointed to the windowsill and a broken piece of piping that looked like it had bore too much weight.

Morgan nodded. "I can't find a place where he could've been watching from. I did consider the shed, but it's too packed full of gardening tools. I guess we'll have to think about it some more."

Emily nodded, glancing toward Liserl. "We should head back. It's a good twenty or thirty minute drive back to the station and I think Hotch wanted us to meet with the three detectives at around five thirty."

Morgan nodded, saying nothing, and made his way back inside. Emily made eye contact with Liserl and nodded, gesturing to say they had now finished what they needed to do.

"If you need to come back at all, just let me know," Liserl said as they reached the reception. A small old woman walked past them, using a walking stick to support her. "I know this place looks odd, and maybe it's overdone, but we really do care here, you know. We're all devastated by what's happened."

Emily nodded sincerely. "I can tell," she said. "You've stepped up your security and I suggest you put locks on your windows so they can only be opened so far."

"You think he'll come back?" Liserl said, fear hovering in her voice.

"We can't be sure. It'll be dangerous for him to return, but we don't know enough about him yet to predict his movements. If we think he will, then we'll advise you to take certain safety steps, but until then, just get your windows sorted and have someone around the back at all times," Emily said, trying her best to sound reassuring and calm.

"Thank you Agent Prentiss. And please thank Agent Morgan as well."

Emily realised that he had already headed out of the main door to where Officer Diamond would be with the car. She shook Liserl's hand and headed to the vehicle herself, hoping that Morgan had taken the front seat and had somehow damaged Neil Diamond's Greatest Hits in the process.

* * *

Memories weren't supposed to exist in fingers, only in the mind, but Hotch was sure that his hands had developed the capacity to remember since the night before. Detective Barry had just left the room to hunt down coffee, Detective Burrows – his counterpart from Utah county – had taken the opportunity to have a cigarette outside, while Detective Clegg was outside the door speaking with her husband. Hotch reined in the thoughts about last night and focused on the incident wall that was in progress facing him.

After an hour of heated discussion between the three detectives about whose budget what should come out of which had taken forty minutes, and the pooling of resources, which had taken twenty, Hotch was ready to find the nearest wall and bang his head on it. Hard. His manner and expression, however, was that of a man who had seen much worse wars than these, especially now a truce had been called.

"Have they done squabbling?" Rossi said, emerging from the adjoining kitchen. He'd arrived there late, otherwise Hotch would have sent him with Reid to visit the relatives of Alberto Costas. Detective Winters was out of intensive care and making a quick recovery, and Rossi had delayed his flight to Salt Lake City to see her sister Jolene home and resting after the ordeal she'd been through in the last seventy two hours. Hotch hadn't begrudged him the time, although it didn't seem like it had been particularly restful for Rossi.

"Just about," Hotch said. "The UnSub's obviously not considerate enough to keep to just one county."

"Makes for an interesting life," Rossi said, sitting down next to Hotch. "Speaking of interesting lives, I believe yours had a little more excitement in it last night."

Hotch hardened his look. "I suppose you've been speaking with Garcia."

"No, Reid actually. I spoke with him just before our little conflab started and he happened to mention it. How did it go?" Rossi's voice was deliciously unbothered, but Hotch knew him better than to fall for the act. He was fishing for gossip: not necessarily to spread, but certainly to enjoy.

Hotch sighed. If he said nothing, that he would rather keep it private, then Dave would respect that, but he would also be hurt. Hotch decided to give a little. "We had a good night. At least I did." _And judging by Emily's response and her invitation in to her apartment, she had too_.

"You're repeating the occasion?" Rossi tapped his pen on the table, looking ahead out of the window. Hotch knew that this was Dave's way of releasing pressure on him to talk. It was a technique he'd seen him use in interviews many times.

"When the opportunity presents itself," Hotch said, keeping any emotion he felt from his words.

Rossi shook his head, averting his eyes from the window and placing them on Hotch instead. "Why wait? Make the opportunity arise. I know we're here working, but there's no reason you can't disappear out for a meal together in the evening, or have drink – bearing in mind we're in Utah, the home of no alcohol."

"We want to keep this under the team's radar as much as possible," Hotch said, shuffling papers impatiently as a sign to Rossi to drop the conversation.

"Aaron, the team already know. But rest assured; they will keep it under their radar. The trip you mentioned, to Garrison Pen, you and Emily take it," Rossi sat back in his chair. "You'll be away two nights. We can confer by phone. And you know that you should send a woman, because that's who Davey responds to."

Hotch looked up from his papers. He knew he would have to send Emily, and as the Davey case was his, he did want to attend. But he had worried about how professional it was going to look; the very essence of which told him his relationship with Emily was already having an effect at work. "You're right, but we'll have to see how this case goes. I may ask you to go, and I'll stay here."

"Whatever you decide, Aaron. It's always your call."

The door from outside opened and the three detectives retuned. Any differences between them caused by finances had now been resolved and the only topic of their conversation was the best way to catch the UnSub who was terrifying the elderly population and their families.

"So, Agent Hotchner," Detective Barry said, sitting down across from Hotch. "What do we do next? We are expecting a letter any day addressed to the family of Mr Costas, and the guards at the jail are searching the mail of all prisoners to see if our guy corresponds with Mulliner again. If nothing changes, we've got the time to find him before he kills again."

Hotch nodded. "It's doubtful the UnSub would break pattern at this stage. He will feel a compulsion to write those letters. What is worrying is the level of media interest. This would be a very good time for there to be a scandal of some sort."

"What do you mean?" Detective Burrows said. Hotch had notice the younger detective's reticence to speak earlier, only asking for clarification and a precision which Hotch wasn't used to from people outside of the courtroom.

"Media interest," Rossi leaned forward. "Could cause the UnSub's behaviour to escalate." He explained the reasoning behind it, Burrows nodding his head in understanding.

"Can I speak with your media liaison person?" he said, standing up. "I know something that might help." He was reluctant, Hotch could tell, to give anymore away.

"Agent Jareau is in the office next door," Hotch said. "She can listen to your suggestion and advice on its viability."

Detective Burrows nodded, and shifted out of the room. Both he and Detective Barry were slightly overweight, their figures telling of home cooked food and children's sporting activities taking the place of their own.

"My team is reconvening in twenty minutes," Hotch said once the door had closed. "We'd like the three of you to be present while we clarify some details and begin to work victimology."

"What do you mean by victimology?" Detective Barry said. His accent had an odd lilt to it, and Hotch swore he heard something like Welsh there. It reminded him of a distant aunt who had moved from Wales after marrying.

"Victimology is when we study the victims an UnSub has chosen in order to develop a profile," Hotch looked at him, studying. For example, I would guess that your wife is quiet, and thinks what she wants to say before she speaks. This means she usually wins in a disagreement because her arguments are stronger and more logical. She's probably a teacher, and patience is one of her strongest attributes. She's stubborn, and she needs to be, because you are like a dog with a bone when you think you are right about something. She's also very loyal, and your best friend."

Detective Barry gaped at him; then nodded. "How did you know I was married?" he said. "I don't even wear a ring."

"Your shirt is pressed and clean, and when you ate a sandwich from your lunchbox before, you took off the salami and looked disgusted at its presence. Had you made the sandwich yourself, you wouldn't have put it on," Hotch said, smiling inwardly.

"You've sold me," he said, Detective Clegg also nodding. "I wouldn't try that on Michael though. You never know what you might find out about his missus!"

"Or his sandwiches," Detective Clegg stood. "I'm going to bring down the rest of the files we have on the two murders in Tooele. There's quite a lot."

"You didn't send everything?" Hotch said, frowning. Usually JJ specifically asked for everything they had to be sent over to the BAU.

Detective Clegg shook her head. "You've had all the relevant things. I ask my officers to turn in their notebooks as you never know what details they might have jotted down that later become useful. There are also some transcripts of interviews carried out shortly after the attack on the first victim, particularly of people who worked at the home where she was."

Hotch's mood lightened. There had been no error, just a sensible decision. "Thank you. Why don't we take a short break before the rest of the team get here? We could also do with ordering some food – pizza perhaps?"

Detective Clegg nodded. "I'll get someone onto it. One of the youngsters will know where to get it from."

They all left the room, Rossi included who seemed anxious to make a call judging by the way he was clutching his cell. Hotch guessed he'd had a message from Jolene, and wanted to call her back.

He closed his eyes briefly once the room was in silence, not, as was usually the case, to ward off the build up of stress, but this time to allow himself to recall the feel of Emily Prentiss' skin underneath his hands, and the way she had responded to his touch. He felt a little guilty, not thinking about the case, but then, they were all allowed their guilty pleasures, weren't they?

* * *

_Thank you for reading – let me know what you thought. It's always nerve-wracking starting a new story, and the dip in the reviews for the last chapter has thrown me a bit._

_Chapter Four should be up on Monday._

_Sarah x_


	4. Chapter 4

_A/N: There are few 'adult' reference – and inferences in this chapter than in previous things I've written. I don't intend to offend anyone; they are things that would be said in conversation naturally._

_Also, this case, although not overly graphic, is disturbing. If you're old enough to watch Criminal Minds, then this shouldn't be a problem._

_And, I promise, that wherever I take you in this fic, there will ultimately be a happy ending._

_Thank you to everyone who has reviewed. I clearly whinged for nothing – there have been tons of reviews and people putting this story on alert, so thank you lots!_

**Humanity**

"A wonderful fact to reflect upon, that every human creature is constituted to be that profound secret and mystery to every other."

- Charles Dickens, _A Tale of Two Cities_

**Chapter Four**

"Did _you_ have something to do with this?"

JJ raised her eyebrows, feigning complete and utter innocence, her palms gesturing upwards. "To do with what?"

Emily tipped her head to one side and glared knowingly, a hint of danger in her brown eyes. "The rooms."

"I don't know what you're talking about." She sat down at the bar, putting her purse next to the drink that the bartender had just poured. She caught the poor boy's eye again – he'd already been harassed by two suited women who were mid-argument and couldn't decide what to drink. "My friend would like a glass of red wine." His lips pursed, about to speak. "And you've already checked my ID." He scuttled away, and JJ gave a quietly triumphant smile.

"Oh yes you do, Jennifer Jareau. You know all about the rooms."

The pair of eyes that were boring into her face were clearly not going to go away any time soon. "The rooms," JJ repeated, allowing an expression of recognition to light her face.

"Yes," Emily nodded. "_The rooms_. The fact that somehow, Hotch and I have rooms next to each other on a _different_ floor than everybody else." She took a sip of the wine that had been put next to her.

"It's no big deal. Rossi and Morgan are on a different floor to Reid and I. No one will think anything of it, if they notice," JJ said, shrugging. "It's only you who's making an issue of it anyway."

She was given the wide-eyed glare with a lunge forward. "I shall ignore that and ask how Garcia managed to do it?"

"Hacked into the hotel's computer system and changed what rooms had been allocated. We should have all been on the same floor, and I now believe that a Mr and Mrs Weston no longer have to be near their great-aunts Susan and Marsha," JJ said, scooping the ice cubes from her lemonade. "That's a good thing, before you worry. Garcia did a little background check before switching."

Emily slouched down on the bar, looking dramatically exasperated. "You don't need to interfere, you know. Hotch and I can work this out ourselves."

JJ shrugged again. "Can you? It's taken you a good twelve months to come clean about your crush. You could be in bath chairs before you actually get to the point of doing anything." Again, there was the look of exasperation and a little indignation this time. "You wish to put me right on something, Em?"

Emily shook her head. "Oh no. You're not dragging anything out of me. Not right now."

JJ smiled. Emily was a walkover for extracting information from. "So you kissed."

"No."

The lady protested too much. "_Really_?" JJ played along. This wouldn't take much time. Emily was far too open for her own good, and her emotions were readily available for reading. Two year plus in the BAU hadn't yet built a brick wall, and JJ hoped any barricades would stay down. They needed someone who with her honesty and inner confidence and conviction.

"Really? No." Emily said, drinking more of the wine. JJ laughed. Emily was trying to confuse her with words. It wasn't going to work.

She eyed her friend, any teasing now out of the equation.

Emily sighed and looked defeated. "We kissed, but that was it."

"And where were his hands while you were, erm, kissing?" JJ said, scoring a win for her as Emily's cheeks reddened.

"Jennifer, I am not going to give you a blow by blow description..." she stopped as she realised what she had said. "You're not getting any more details than that we kissed, his hands were nowhere indecent, although I certainly wouldn't have removed them if they were, and I am hoping for a repeat as soon as we get back home."

"And why not while we're here?"

An almost guilty look echoed across Emily's face. "Because this is work, you know, and we should be putting our full attention on the case and catching this bastard before he tortures somebody else's grandparent. You heard what the three detectives had to say this evening." Her eyes had saddened, revealing Emily's feelings.

JJ moved a hand onto Emily's and squeezed it gently. "This is possibly one of the most horrific cases I've come across, and that's all the more reason why you need an outlet that will provide you with some lightness at the end of the day. I have Will and Henry; Reid has his internet life and his world of genius; Rossi has fingers in more pies than I care to know about and Morgan has shares in Trojan. You and Hotch..." she paused. "I know Hotch has Jack, but even that's tinged with sadness, and he needs someone who can understand where he's coming from."

The two business women had taken their drinks to a nearby table, lowering the volume around JJ and Emily. "I'm just not comfortable with that yet," Emily lowered her gaze to the bar. "I have no worries that it won't work, Jayje. It's baby steps at the moment, but at some point this could turn into something I'm not sure I can handle."

A look of worry crossed her and JJ felt as if she was now getting to the bottom of something, as well as helping her colleagues in more ways than making sure their rooms were next to each other. "Hotch isn't an easy person," she said, glancing around the bar area to check that everyone else was still in either their bedrooms or the pool room that had been discovered. It was late, past eleven, the briefing having taken longer than anyone had anticipated due to the amount of personal information the detectives had been able to give about the victims. "He's a single parent, divorcee, workaholic, with some personal issues going on there that no one's ever found out much about. That's the bad side. He's not," JJ looked at Emily sternly. "A philanderer, misogynist, drug addict, alcoholic, womaniser..."

"You covered that with philanderer."

"You get the point."

"That I could do worse," Emily nodded, looking away again. "He's intense. What I feel is intense."

JJ signalled to the bartended for two more drinks. "You're scared?"

She watched for the reaction, the honesty that she knew would be there. "I'm petrified. And at the same time I'm excited and feel like I'm a teenager again."

"That's the fun of it. It's a rollercoaster ride and it makes you feel more alive than almost anything else. When I first started seeing Will, it _was_ like nothing else. My heart would race and I'd count the hours until I could see him. If I walked past someone wearing the same aftershave I'd need to fan myself down," she mocked the action, making Emily laugh. "Seriously. You haven't felt like this before, have you?" Realisation came about how deep Emily was in with this.

Brown hair shook from side to side. "No. Especially not in this situation when there is so much at stake."

"Em," JJ began, two glasses of red wine were placed next to them. Clearly the bartender had misunderstood her gesture. "The worst is you sleep together and it's not what you were expecting. The chemistry goes and you step back into being colleagues, both of you sending the memory into that place you never go."

Emily laughed; a genuine almost-dirty chuckle that broke her solemnity, causing the two business women to look over at them. "I could do with sending that kiss into that place, then I might be able to concentrate on why we're here a little more."

JJ grinned. "You seemed like you were engrossed in the case before. Even Reid looked shocked at the statistics you were pulling out the bag."

She shrugged. "Maybe. So whose idea was the room swap? Confess now."

JJ scratched the back of her neck, avoiding Emily's eyes. "Garcia's," she said. "She made me tell her what hotel I'd booked. I admit I didn't discourage her though."

"I thought as much. And don't worry, I only hate you slightly. Drink your wine. Rossi and Reid have just entered and Rossi looks like he's in serious need of adult conversation, which can never be good." Emily chinked JJ's glass, and they both took a long drink.

* * *

"You're not having a game?" Reid said, pushing a pool cue towards him.

Morgan shook his head, holding up a palm, and then looked back down at the table. His hands were curled around a large glass of orange juice, abstaining from anything alcoholic, knowing that it would only act as a depressant, and he didn't need something else to do that.

He hated not being in control. He hated not being able to protect.

For the past twenty two hours, he'd not been able to get the memory of the night before out of his mind; the sense of frustration at knowing what was going to happen when the couple were behind their closed doors and the knowledge that he couldn't interfere. He hadn't been asked to help

It had happened before. The team had been made aware of cases where they could have potentially helped; on a couple of occasions they could see that the suspects the officers were pulling in for questioning were completely wrong for the crime that had been committed. But they hadn't been asked to assist. It had also happened on a more personal level. An aunt, his mother's sister, had been in an abusive relationship for years. As a child, he'd been with his mother a few times when they'd picked Maria up from the hospital, or she'd come round to theirs and slept on the sofa, saying she couldn't go back. But she always had. In the morning she would be gone, and when his mother spoke to Maria on the phone later, it would be as if nothing had happened.

And so it had continued.

There had been nothing they could do about it. Maria would never put in a complaint with the local PD, and it never got bad enough for anyone to interfere. Unfortunately you couldn't arrest someone for a crime they had not committed, and bruises and signs of violence could easily be dismissed and denied with the 'I just walked into a door.' There was never enough evidence to warrant interference without Maria's word.

Morgan watched Reid calculating angles in his head as he hit the cue ball around the table. He'd been short with Reid today. The kid had knocked on his room earlier, and asked if he was okay. Morgan had pretty much chewed him up then spat him out, apologising fifteen minutes later with the excuse that he'd not had much sleep before and was feeling out of sorts.

He knew Reid hadn't believed him, he could tell that Morgan had just fobbed him off, but if he'd confessed then Reid would have analysed the situation further and discovered Morgan's other issue with the night before and his tryst with one of his 'night-time honeys' as Emily called them. And Morgan didn't want to go there right now, didn't want to analyse what exactly was going on in his personal life.

"You sure you don't want a game?" Reid said. "I can't promise to let you win..."

Morgan raised his eyebrows. "Reid, if I played you, you know I'd whip your ass." He finished the rest of his juice. "You should practise on Rossi or Hotch before taking on me."

"You shouldn't think too highly of yourself, Morgan. Pride comes before a fall." Reid aimed and pocketed another ball that should have been impossible from where the cue ball had been. It wouldn't have been a walkover, playing Reid, in fact, her could have lost some face over it.

"Another time, kid," Morgan said, standing up. "I'm going to try get some sleep. Tomorrow's going to be a long day by the sounds of things." They were starting off with a brief meeting, to allow them to pool any thoughts they'd had overnight about the UnSub or victimology. Then they'd be divided up. Reid would doubtless be working on a linguistic profile; two of them would go see George Mulliner; someone would get the pleasure of staying back at the fold to work victimology and the other two would head off to interview the victim's families. None of it sounded particularly appealing for Morgan right now. The only thing he wanted to do was to get hold of their UnSub and ensure he never hurt anyone again. Caveman instincts.

"Sure," Reid said, standing up straight and looking almost as thin as the pool cue he held next to him. "I won't be long myself. You sure you're okay, Morgan?"

Morgan fought the irritation inside him, knowing that Reid was just trying to help. "I'm fine. Just tired, like I said. I'll see you in the morning." He left the room, feeling Reid's eyes boring into his back.

Taking the stairs to burn off some energy, he passed two business women in suits. One of them gave him a slight smile, but instead of returning it, even in a friendly fashion, he kept his expression neutral. He enjoyed flirting, the thrill of the chase and the promise of a good time, but right now, he wanted to be alone in his bed and in his thoughts. When he had a moment, he'd call Jacey and let her know that he was moving on. Or moving back.

He used a key card to open his room, a whirring sound breaking the strong silence before the door unlocked. They'd only had a brief amount of time to drop off their luggage before they'd walked round the corner, back to the precinct for dinner. Sometimes, while away on a case, Morgan didn't bother to unpack the smaller items, such as t-shirts and shorts. He'd hang up a suit, though it was rare he'd need to wear it, and put a few easily-creased bits in the wardrobe. However, tonight he felt he should make more of an effort to make this room seem more like home, as he figured they might be there for a while.

After picking up the suitcase and putting it on the bed, he headed to the wide window, looking out across to Liberty City, the skyline unimpeded by high buildings or apartments. For a few seconds he felt peace, some kind of succour, and he drew strength from it before closing the curtains and beginning to unpack, opening a drawer and ignoring the bible inside.

* * *

The knock at her door was not really a surprise. In fact, if it hadn't have come, she'd have been hurt and disappointed, even though she would have understood why. She put her suitcase in the wardrobe and glanced around to make sure everything was away. The last time Hotch had been in her hotel room her underwear had been on display, and she was happy to not have that situation repeated.

"Aaron," she said, finding his first name now came as easily to her as his shortened surname. "Come in."

The rooms that Garcia had procured for them were in a different league to those they'd had in Calverville Point, but then again, they were now in a big city, and the standard of accommodation would have to be better. Her room had a desk, a sofa and separate chair near the window and what seemed to be a new bathroom with a bath deep enough to be fully immerse herself in the water.

"You mind if I sit down?" he said, looking towards the sofa.

"Sure," she said with a shrug, trying to appear casual. They'd done this many times before, so why was she now feeling like a teenager speaking to the boy she'd had a crush on for months for the first time? "Shall I make coffee?"

"Thanks," he nodded. "That'd be good."

Emily wondered whether his visit was for personal or business reasons. It hadn't been unusual in recent months to go over some aspects of the case together late on into the night. Neither of them needed more than six hours of sleep, and could quite easily function on less, and they had found that they bounced well off each other.

She filled up the coffee maker and found the hotel-issued beans inside the small fridge. Things like this were a God-send, particularly if she woke up in the morning and needed coffee before getting dressed. Glancing around, she saw that Hotch had brought a stack of papers into the room and figured that his main purpose for being here was work. A little piece of her felt disappointment: she had wanted it to be for something else, but she let it go.

"I take it Penelope was responsible for our being three floors up from anyone else?" Hotch said as she carried two mugs of coffee over to the table between the sofa and chair.

Emily glanced up at him, checking if he was happy about that, or annoyed that she'd interfered. As usual, he was almost unreadable, but the quick look he gave her explained his view. "She thought she was being helpful," Emily said. "And I must admit, it'll be nice to have a bit of space from Morgan and Rossi for a few days. We've been in each other's pockets for the best part of a fortnight already." She sat down in the chair, sipping the coffee and holding the mug with both hands.

"Have you had chance to read through the letters the UnSub has send to Mulliner?" Hotch said, also drinking his coffee. He looked up at her from the paperwork.

She nodded. "It made for interesting reading. From the familiarity in his words and tone, I would think that at some point our UnSub has met Mulliner. He isn't reverential. He doesn't quote Mulliner's crimes. There's no form of hero worship – it's more like a kinship."

Hotch nodded. "I came to the same conclusion. We'll see what Reid can work out tomorrow," he put down his mug and passed her a selection of papers. "This is information on George Mulliner – the abridged version. His crimes were rather heinous and it does not make for soothing bed time reading."

His mention of bed reminded her of where they were. A bedroom. The place she'd been trying to entice him to a little more than twenty-four hours ago. The temporary box she'd placed her non-professional feelings in collapsed a little and she felt certain elements of the periodic table dance between them. From the way his eyes dilated, he felt it too.

"You want to go through it now, together?" she said. This was another reason they'd sometimes worked late together: the more gruesome aspects of their work didn't seem as bad when two of you were sharing the same experience.

Hotch looked at her and nodded. "If you're sure you don't want an early night it might be useful."

She shook her head. "I'm fine, Aaron. We have coffee on tap, and no interruptions." Without him moving his head she saw him agree, the light in his eyes changing. She picked up the pile of papers and began to read. The first sheet gave personal information on Mulliner and she glanced through it quickly.

"If they know each other," she said looking up. Hotch rested his sheets on the table. "Then they're not of the same peer group. Mulliner's in his fifties, and our UnSub can't be any more than forty, given the age of his victims. We can place him between 25 and 40. Any younger, and he'd be too immature to carry out this level of planning, and older, and it's likely he would already have a history of violent crime and would have been caught already."

"I think you're right. We should be looking at people who grew up in the same town as Mulliner, or were acquainted with him through work. Mulliner grew up in Arcadia, Duchesne. He was incarcerated twenty years ago for the murders of Jessie La Belle, Honor Carey and Leticia DeMoines," Hotch skim read the details. "They were killed with five weeks of each other, although it took another seven months to track Mulliner down. He is suspected of another eight murders, but not enough evidence has been found to try him for them."

"He's escaped death row because he cooperated in leading investigators to the body of Jessie Le Belle. I take it records of his visitors have already been dug up?" she finished the rest of her coffee.

Hotch mirrored her actions, placing down an empty cup before speaking. "He's had no visitors for the past seven years, and although he has had regular mail from several 'fans', any requests for visitors invites have been refused by him. He's not the most sociable of prisoners."

"Any suggestion of why he did it?" Emily said, standing up and reaching for Hotch's mug.

He rushed his hand up and took it from her. "Leave it. I'll make this one." His voice was its usual collected quietness that she had found both soothing and reassuring on many occasions. She sat back down and allowed him to own a little part of her temporary territory. "His background was straightforward: he lived with his mother who was much older than average. His father died when he was two, and he was given a very religious upbringing. He wasn't allowed to play with friends his age who weren't affiliated with the same church, and that his mother approved of. He made no decisions that were his own. It would appear that his mother had an unhealthy fascination with him that was exasperated by the death of her husband. She apparently referred to Mulliner as the 'man of her house', and there were suggestions that Mulliner filled that role in more than one way."

"Any suspicions that he killed his mother?" Emily asked, reading through the pages as Hotch spoke.

"None. She was killed in a road accident ten months before Mulliner started killing. A farmer who lived nearby was drunk and mowed her down as she was crossing the road. Apparently, Mulliner offered to pay his bail," Hotch said, the coffee machine now on and permeating the air with its delightful smells.

A few minutes of silence fell while Hotch finished the coffee and Emily the file. "There's nothing special about him," she said, finally looking up as he walked over with their refilled mugs. "His methods of killing weren't particularly sophisticated; he isn't especially attractive or intelligent." She glanced again at his photograph. "And he doesn't encourage communication. How did Detective Barry come to know about these letters?"

Hotch sat back in the chair, nursing the coffee. "The guard who was checking his mail read through it and flagged it. His boss made a few enquiries and tied it to the first attack."

"And it's always posted from Salt Lake City, but never from the same place," Emily said, twisting thoughts in her head. The case had almost consumed her now; she was even managing her distraction caused by Hotch. "The connection between them – it has to be something strong, but maybe fairly brief."

"Because of the probably age difference?"

She nodded, picking up the coffee. "There's a link between them, but not necessarily one that anyone else would consider strong, including Mulliner. The chances are that Mulliner means more to out killer than the killer does to Mulliner. Maybe we'll find out more after we've spoken to Mulliner tomorrow." She fought back a yawn and rubbed her face with a hand.

"You look tired, Emily," he said. "I shouldn't have brought those papers in. They could have waited until morning."

"No," she shook her head. "It amazing what your brain can conclude when you wake up in the morning. It'll give me food for thought. We could keep looking through." It wasn't the case she wanted to continue with, it was having his presence there.

"I want you fresh in the morning," he said. "And I know you need little sleep, but we're all on the edge of burn out and need as much rest as we can get, otherwise we'll make mistakes."

She gave him a watery smile, knowing that he was right. She just wished that they could share their sleep, and she berated herself for the rushed feelings. She wasn't the greatest at managing relationships; having tendency to think that everyone was at the same emotional level as she was, and in instances, rushing into things like a bull in a china shop without considering what she'd break. She knew she could never play the seductress; she wouldn't have the secrecy for it, or the composure.

"Do you have any idea what's going on with Morgan?" Hotch said, the question coming from nowhere.

"I don't know," she said. "I can't see it being women trouble. I've never seen him like this before."

"Neither have I," Hotch said, leaning further forward on the table. "And that's what bothers me. It's only started today, so it's potentially something he's learnt or has happened since we got back from South Dakota."

She felt him really staring at her, his eyes tracing her skin as if something was written there that he had to translate.

"We should both go to bed," he said, putting down his mug. "I could sit here all night, Emily, but that's not going to help us get home quicker."

He stood, and she matched his actions, following him to the door to her room. Her heart was beating faster than normal, and she wondered if it was echoing through her room like it was through her ears. He paused at the exit, his hand on the handle.

Not allowing herself to over think what she was about to do, Emily placed a hand on his left shoulder and reached up to kiss him, forgetting temporarily about the case, and about being professional and following her instincts.

He met her, his arms pulling her into him, allowing her to push him into the wall. There was none of the hurried heat this time. Instead it was a quieter kiss, one that was more gentle and lengthier, one that burnt slower, a spring sun turning into summer.

Emily felt her body respond to his like piano keys under the fingers of a pianist. She tingled; fire lapping at her, burning her from the outside in.

She broke away, his hands still on her waist, creeping under her short. "We should sleep," she said.

"We should," she detected a tremor in his voice and it gave her a thrill to hear the effect she was having on him. He moved back in, his lips taking over hers, claiming her almost. A small part of him, she could tell, was refraining from dominating her as she knew would be part of his nature, and she felt the urge to make him lose that self control and have him fight with her for dominance.

The sound of a room service trolley going passed the door yanked them back into reality. "Sleep," Emily said, muttering. She took a quarter of a step back as Hotch's hand returned to the door handle.

He nodded. "Sleep well," he said, his shirt and tie both mussed. She felt inherently pleased that she had caused his to become slightly dishevelled. That she was becoming his undoing.

"You too," she said, moving back from the door slightly so he could exit.

She stood there for another five minutes, reaffirming the memories so she could play through them time and time again. It didn't have the desperation of the first kiss. Instead it had something else, something that promised to tease her further; a building up of heat and momentum. She just hoped they would get the chance to enjoy the burn.

* * *

_Now let me know what you think... _

_I've just read Val McDermid's latest crime novel and wondered who are you favourite authors? Let me know – I'm being nosy again!_

_Please review – there should be a new chapter up on Wednesday._

_Sarah x_


	5. Chapter 5

_Thank you for all the reviews! They made my day – really, they did!!!! *does a happy dance*_

_I hope you enjoy this chapter – do let me know what you think!_

_Thank you to __**Kavi Leighanna**__ for the beta and conversation, and big hugs to __**Lily Moonlight - **__ get some sleep!!_

**Humanity**

"Ethics, too, are nothing but reverence for life. This is what gives me the fundamental principle of morality, namely, that good consists in maintaining, promoting, and enhancing life, and that destroying, injuring, and limiting life are evil."

- Albert Schweitzer

**Chapter Five**

_January 1979_

_Huntington_

_Emery County, Utah_

_It was completely dark in the room and he wondered whether he should begin to have a fear of it. He thought that maybe monsters hid in corners or inside the large crates that he knew were under the metal shelves, but he thought didn't scare him. A spider crawled across his bare leg, tickling his skin, but he didn't push it away. It was good to know something else was alive in there; there was something to keep him company._

_He could hear his breath, or rather his chest; it rattled with each inhalation, the remainders of a cold that were lingering longer than what they should. Nana had suggested he ask his mom to take him to the doctor, that he might need medicine to help him get rid of it, but when he'd told his mom that she'd dismissed him with a wave of her hand, her eyes dull and distant. "You'll be okay," she had said. "You just need to stop pissing off God."_

_Now Nana was here, asking where he was. That was why mom had told him to stay in the cellar, so Nana wouldn't see him. He didn't understand why Nana couldn't see him, it seemed silly to him. Mom was happy enough when Nana had taken him to live with her and Grandfather in Tooele._

_He missed Tooele. He missed the quarry and the birds that swooped down there, catching their dinner. He even missed Grandfather. He didn't miss the beatings though. He'd told his friend Morris about it, and Morris had just shrugged his shoulders and said that he shouldn't be naughty then. So it was all his fault. If he could go back to Tooele and the quarry, he'd never be naughty again, never even sneak away after dinner to watch the hawks._

_Voices boomed above him and something smashed. He heard mom shouting that he wasn't there and he dug himself deeper into the piles of old moth-eaten blankets that he'd sat next to for warmth. He shivered and coughed, trying to cough quietly so as not to make any noise to show where he was. If mom was cross with him, that meant no food and he'd have to stay down in the cellar. He didn't mind the cellar too much when it was warm. Then he was just in the dark and a bit bored. It was the lack of something to eat and being cold that was the part he hated. And if he was good, and Nana went away, then mom might take him to McDonalds for a cheeseburger._

_His mouth watered at the thought as the voices grew louder. "He's my son! He should stay with me!"_

"_He's going to end up dying if he stays with you, 'Chelle. One of your boyfriends'll end up throwing him down these stairs so hard it'll fracture his skull. He needs to be looked after..."_

"_I do look after him! I love him. He's my boy..."_

_Lee stopped listening, pushing his head into the blankets to drown out the sound. Nana was right about the boyfriends. Mom's boyfriends didn't usually like him; they just wanted mom to themselves. Usually they had her though. He was quite capable now of making himself food and getting up for school and stuff, and mom could stay in bed or even at their apartments and not have to worry about him._

_There was that teacher at school though, Mrs Lucas. She kept asking if he was okay, and if someone was looking after him at home. She'd been looking at his t-shirt when she'd asked him, and he realised it looked a bit dirty, a bit like one of Julian Darby's, who no one would go near because he smelt. So when he'd got home that afternoon he'd told mom she needed to wash his clothes. She'd been mad first and had knocked him into the fridge, which had hurt, but then he'd watched what she'd done to wash them and then he could do it for himself._

"_He should come with me. I can look after him! With me he goes to church every Sunday. He's learning in school. He's clean and well-fed. Here he's wasting away, 'Chelle..."_

"_So you want him, but you don't want me? Is that it? You were never like this with me, mom. You never wanted me around. Was it because dad always wanted a boy? Is that why you want to take Lee? So dad can have him..."_

_He pushed his fingers in his ears and began to hum. "_And when the saints. Go marching in..."

_He remembered church on a Sunday, and Sunday school sitting with Jeremy. They wouldn't listen to what the teacher was saying to them, just try and kick at each other under the table, seeing who could be kicked the hardest without crying out or making a face and Lee had always been the best because he'd been quite used to the strikes he'd got from Grandfather. He didn't tell Jeremy that though because Jeremy might have thought it was cheating. When they had recess, they'd go find bugs and pull their legs off, seeing how many they could get rid of before it stopped being able to crawl. Lee had liked that bit, he liked watching them squirm because it made him feel like he was boss. He'd always killed them in the end though; he didn't want them to suffer too much._

"And when the saints go marching in..."

_Grandfather didn't like Jeremy most of the time. Lee had brought him home for dinner one day after school because his parents were at the hospital as his mom had just had a little girl. Grandfather had tested Jeremy on stories in the Bible, and that was the only time Lee had wished they'd paid more attention in Sunday School, because when Jeremy got one wrong Grandfather made him do ten press ups and his arms had kept giving under his weight. Grandfather said Jeremy was fat, and that God didn't like fat children because being fat meant they were greedy. Grandfather said that Lee was the perfect weight and that night he'd been really nice to Lee, even giving him a new t-shirt and shorts, which were meant to be a present for another time._

"I want to be within that number..."

_A shard of light fell down the stairs and Lee pulled himself out from the blankets. A dark figure stood at the top and for a moment Lee was terrified. It looked almost like Jon, one of mom's friends who'd really hurt him once because he'd done something bad._

"_Get the things you want to take, sweetheart, you're coming back to Tooele with me."_

_It was Nana. Lee smiled, feeling sudden warmth. He wanted to go back with Nana and see Jeremy again, and see the quarry and the hawks. Standing up, his shook the blanket off him and felt something crawl down his leg. But it didn't matter. He was going back to Tooele. He could be happy in Tooele, he knew he could._

"Oh when the saints go marching in."

* * *

The sky had not shed its night clothes by the time everyone was gathered in the room they had been allocated in the local PD. A very young looking officer had brought them a pot of coffee minutes after they had arrived and Rossi had already taken full advantage of it, pouring himself a large mugful. He looked around the table, weighing up what sort of day it was going to start off like. Hotch seemed fairly relaxed, he looked less tired than he had in the last few weeks, which was contrary given that they hadn't had a proper rest in around two weeks. Reid looked much the same as usual, his interest piqued by the case and the letters. Rossi wished that Calverville Point and Katie Walsh were closer to Quantico. The youngest member of their team needed something other than his numerous brain cells to keep him company, and he needed someone to teach him about the side of life he would happily ignore, even though it could provide him with so much pleasure. Reid fascinated Rossi; he clearly had characteristics associated with Asperger's syndrome: eidetic memory, lack of innate social skills, empathy derived from intelligence and learned behaviour rather than anything instinctive and a mind that worked in a completely different way than most others. Rossi found it intriguing that someone who should have been more at home avoiding people had chosen a career where he studied them.

Rossi put this down to a triad of things: his intelligence, his upbringing and an understanding of rules. Reid was frequently labelled by Garcia and Morgan as a genius, and Rossi didn't doubt that. His intelligence was a key factor in his ability to reason, to reason with his own behaviour and oddities and to also understand how other humans behaved in much the same way as a chemist could predict the combination of certain elements. He'd also had an upbringing surrounded by books and stories about people; given his intelligence, he would have learned behaviour from the characters, presented with a multitude of situations and personality types, and from analysing their behaviour, he would have learnt norms and deviances.

He moved on with his gaze to JJ, who was proof reading a press release. She'd been here earlier than the rest of them, and had already fielded two telephone calls demanding information and confirmation about the case and a possible suspect. JJ leaned over and muttered something to Morgan, who turned and shrugged at her, then refocused back on the pages in front of him that Hotch had distributed a few minutes previously.

There was something going on there and Rossi wanted to know what, but the time to probe had not yet arrived. Morgan was rarely out of sorts, always determined and level headed, his moments of reckless heroism now few and far between. To see him quiet and withdrawn was almost like someone else had been transferred into his body. He would need watching, and at some point, Rossi knew, interference would be necessary, and coming from him would be better than coming from Hotch for many reasons.

Emily sat down next to Hotch after returning from the printer. Rossi had seen Hotch glance up at her as she pulled back the chair, his usually neutral expression broken into something softer. Emily was animated as she pointed something out to him and he poured her another coffee. She leaned across the table and showed Reid the same thing, but the connection between her and Aaron was not lost. Rossi wondered how Hotch was going to partner them today. If he didn't put himself with Prentiss then it would draw more attention to them than if he didn't, but Rossi knew he would also be concerned with showing a professional distance between the two of them.

"Is everyone okay to start?" Hotch said, straightening his papers. Silence fell with all eyes on their leader. "We've had enough time to familiarise ourselves with the case. Let's go over what we know and put some basics down on the board." He gestured to the three portable wipe boards behind him. "JJ would you mind..."

"Not at all." JJ stood up and took the dry wipe pens from the table.

"Let's start with basic victimology," Rossi said. "We've got six victims; the last two were murdered, four were seriously assaulted, physically and sexually and one of whom died before regaining consciousness several days after. We need to have it firm in our minds that if it weren't for an underlying health condition, Gerald Morris may well have survived. Our UnSub, when caught, will probably be tried for manslaughter for his death, but we must remember that his murder was not intentional."

"Mixed genders is unusual," Morgan said. "In the case of George Mulliner, it was all females. Here we have both male and female victims."

"And that tells us a lot about our UnSub," Hotch said. "In the case of Mulliner, he was taking out rage he felt for his mother. These attacks suggest that our guy probably has issues against two people in his adolescence, one male and one female."

"According to Garcia and her words, I quote, 'of outstanding genius' none of the victims have anything in common. There are no connections with places of residence, interests, work, college etc. There are also no family connections, apart from they all have a grandson or great grandson within a seven year age range," Emily said, referring to the sheet she had just printed. "Garcia is looking at common services used by the nursing homes and assisted living accommodation. So far, there are too many to go through, so she is looking at narrowing them down. If the places where the attacks were carried out were in closer proximity then it would be easier."

"She also needs to look at deliveries to the homes. I know that's adding to list, but he's found his victims somehow. There's been a reason he's chosen them." Hotch looked around at everyone as he spoke, but missed Emily out. Rossi raised an eyebrow at him, but only received Hotch's discreet quizzical look in return.

"It said in one of the statements from the nursing home where Marjorie Heys was that she complained of being followed in the days running up to her murder," Reid said animatedly, as if just having recalled something momentous. "It was dismissed at the time, as Marjorie suffered from late-onset schizophrenia, and paranoid behaviour was not uncommon. However, some of the things she reported were not in keeping with previous episodes, for example, she said she had seen a face at her window;. that the lilies she had been sent weren't from her family. The care assistants dismissed the latter as her family frequently sent lilies. It turned out that Marjorie was right. The lilies came from someone else."

"He stalks them discreetly. He knows which room or apartment is theirs. He knows their routines. No one has seen him or noticed anything suspicious," Hotch said. His expression told Rossi that he was busy places pieces of a mental jigsaw puzzle together. "He has been inside those buildings for a legitimate reason."

"I agree," Emily said, tapping her pen against the table as she usually did before coming out with something no one else had thought of. "The failed attack on James Jones took place on Christmas day last year. That would suggest if the UnSub does have family, then he had the opportunity or a reason to leave them for a period of time. That attack seems very out of step with the others," she shook her head. "There's something about it that is odd. He was disturbed whilst entering a ground floor apartment on Christmas day. I'm not convinced this was our guy. How was it reported in the media?"

JJ put the pen back down on the table. She had been adding details as they'd been speaking, a lot of which would later be organised by whoever was working victimology. "An unofficial statement was released to the press that connected the breaking and entering of James Jones' apartment with the other attack in Salt Lake County. Detective Barry dies not know the source of the statement but suspects it came from one of the new officers who were working on the case at the time."

"Then it could have been a simple opportune break in by some addict looking for an easy target to rob to get a Christmas fix," Rossi said. "I vote we put the James Jones attack to one side. What did the letters send by the UnSub to George Mulliner say after that incident?"

'"_They will now associate me with every attack on our senior population in Utah. I say many hands make light work." _ That was all that was mentioned. Unlike the other cases where more detail was given, and more philosophising was done. The letters are never graphic; they are far more _conversational_ than that," Reid said, no notes required.

"Okay," said Hotch. Rossi recognised by the movement in his leader that they would soon be on their way. It was a relief; he wasn't sure how much longer he could cope with sitting as it seemed that that was all he had done for the past couple of days. "Reid, I want you to further analyse the letters. Once you've done that, begin a geographical profile, although I'm not sure how far that will take us. Morgan; get on the phone to Garcia and go through details of victims with her and build up a picture of our victims. Also, see if you can narrow down businesses connected with all the care homes involved."

Rossi felt Hotch's eyes on him. "And you want JJ and I to go see Alberto Costas' family once the seagulls have finished calling for more fish," he said, referring to the media and the red herrings that were about to be thrown. He was aware through a brief conversation between himself and JJ the night before, that Detective Burrows had a contact in a rock group who owed him a few favours, and was paying one of them back by giving an impromptu interview on a certain aspect of his love life. It was detail that the man in question had wanted to release, he just hadn't known when, and with a slight arm twist, he had decided that now was that moment. The media's eyes would be diverted for a few days at least.

"That fish should be thrown any time now," JJ said, glancing at her watch. "Pax had arranged a press conference for nine am."

"Good," Rossi said. "That should buy us some time to gage how the UnSub will react to having more media attention splashed on him. I take it you and Prentiss are off to see George Mulliner?"

Hotch nodded. "We looked through his history last night in some detail. I'm not holding my breath to get a lot of information, as he doesn't appear to be the communicative type."

"Set Emily on him," Rossi said. "I remember the case, although it wasn't one that I worked, I did discuss it with Ron Jackson who was the profiler on it. Mulliner likes pretty women. They make him think he's got a chance of relieving the youth that his mother stole. Do your god cop bad cop routine, with Emily's halo on, and you might find you get more than you think." Rossi stood up and nodded at Hotch, hoping he took it as a sign of his approval.

"Good luck today," Hotch said, standing up. "Let's hope we cover a lot of ground. I'll see everyone back here at four. Let me know if that's not going to be possible, or if anything urgent arises."

Rossi followed JJ out of the room, a sense of determination aching through his bones that he'd never shed, and never thought he would; the thrill of the hunt, the chase, to get another scumbag off the streets and know why they'd done it, why he'd broken the rules of humanity by puncturing the heart of morality and leaving her for dead. Rossi couldn't give that up again; it was in his blood.

It kept him alive.

* * *

_Hope you liked!!_

_Okay, Sarah's randominsh question of the day... who is your favourite fictional detective? Detective can also include unofficial detective a la Kay Scarpetta. Mine would be Stuart MacBride's Sergeant Logan McRae, closely followed by Stephen Booth's Ben Cooper and then Tony Hill (Val McDermid) ._


	6. Chapter 6

_I'm stepping a little out of canon here, as in Outfoxed it is Emily's first visit to a state pen to interview a convicted killer. In this story, she's going to have to do that a couple of times, so I'm bending the rules! Hope you don't mind :) In fact, as __**Kavi Leighanna**__ has pointed out, I'm creating a whole little universe here. Hope that's okay!_

_Thank you for the reviews. If you haven't reviewed the last chapter, you still can *winks*_

_I hope everyone has had a good New Year!_

**Humanity**

"When you have only two pennies left in the world, buy a loaf of bread with one, and a lily with the other."

- Chinese Proverb

**Chapter Six**

West Bountiful was a short, fifteen minute drive up the I-15 into Davis County, Utah State. The houses they passed were akin to most of what they had seen of the residential areas of Utah so far; wide roads with large homes set back with lawns and gardens in between. There was a sense of peace to the area once they left the centre of Salt Lake City behind them, and Hotch felt that the calmness externally conflicted drastically with what was going on inside.

Crimes against the elderly were on a par with ones against children, in his opinion. Both were generally too physically weak to battle, and the elderly in particular did not always have the emotional strength to overcome what had happened, their own sense of mortality and their fragility irreparably damaged. George Mulliner was one of those monsters who had inflicted pain and torture on those unable to defend themselves and he deserved a special place in hell, or at least in some rotten corner of a state penitentiary.

The outskirts of the small city they were travelling to belied the grey bricked building that was buried in one of its corners. The autumn sun trickled down onto quiet streets as they left the interstate, golden hues and myriads of red leafing the ground. Hotch noticed Emily looking up from the more detailed notes on Mulliner and glancing out of the window, taking in the city hall as they passed on their way towards the mountainous region behind.

"It's almost an oxymoron," Emily said. "Having two such contradictory places near to each other. A city like this; somewhere that's almost stayed unspoilt by the last couple of decades and a place where we put men who aren't fit to have their freedom. Do you think the prison affects their day to day lives – that of the residents, I mean?"

"I think it's something they wouldn't notice any more," Hotch said, taking a right turn down a road that looked as if it led into the middle of nowhere. "If you're born somewhere like this, you never really notice its presence. It was like that where I grew up; there was a children's home, but I never even considered it until I returned there after being away for a few years."

He'd gone back for a funeral, one he'd heard about through reading a news article about his hometown. Eddie Sommers had been one of the boys at the children's home and he and Hotch had sometimes knocked a ball around together on the school field. His father had said Eddie was trouble, and had made sure his opinion hit home. Hotch had watched from afar as Eddie grew up and grew away, ending up serving time and hating the rest of the world. He'd been killed in a bar brawl, although no one was ever charged.

They'd been only four people at Eddie's funeral besides Hotch. Two of them had worked at the home, faces Hotch had seen once or twice, but never paid much attention to. The other two had been people Eddie had called friends, both ex-cell mates, both looking at a death that might foretell their own.

He'd returned to Haley quiet and withdrawn, and she'd told him yet again that he couldn't save everybody, and he did more than was expected of him. The words had been meant to soothe, but that hadn't. Instead they'd stung and reminded him of how he stood alone.

"I guess you never see what's under your nose," Emily said, pulling him back into the present. "Like the neighbour or the wife who swears they never knew their husband was a serial killer."

He could think of other examples of things under people's noses that hadn't been seen, but left that road in the conversation to be travelled another time. The dull building began to emerge from the horizon, the blue skies still clear overhead. In his opinion, it should always rain over such places; the inmates should not be given the opportunity to see a beautiful day.

"You're okay with doing this?" Hotch said. Emily's expression was curious as she took in their surroundings.

She straightened her bangs with a hand and nodded. "I'm assuming Mulliner will have been moved to an interview room so I don't have to parade in front of a row full of prisoners with rap sheets as long as the Great Wall of China, a la Clarice Starling."

Hotch's grip on the steering wheel tightened a little as an image of that came to mind. "They're aware that we're coming, so Mulliner should have been moved. It depends on the layout of the prison as to whether you'll see any of the other inmates."

"Should be interesting. An experience right there with having to flirt with Viper," her tone prickled.

He managed to smile this time, just slightly. She'd hated every moment of that evening, and he'd not felt so good about it either, but the dress had compensated somewhat for his discomfort. That had been one of the first times he'd realised his attraction to her. "It'll be you who leads the questioning. Rossi's right - he's more likely to respond to you than to me. He will feel as if he never had the opportunity to date when he was younger because of his mother. There's no need for you to lead him on, or be anything other than what you are because he will probably see right through that. He will want to try to impress you and gain your affection."

"So I stay neutral. No sympathy, no smiles, but no frowns either," she said. "That's fine with me. What's your game plan? The big bad wolf?"

"Almost," Hotch said, steering into the parking lot after negotiating the security barrier. A quick flash of his badge and the guard checking a list had ensured him a speedy entrance. "I'll push him when necessary, but I think for the most of it, it will be you. Direct questions about the letters and Mulliner's knowledge of the UnSub. Take the approach that they do know each other and play up Mulliner's role."

"We also need to know more about Mulliner's life before his mother's death. The age gap between them is enough that they met when our UnSub was a child and Mulliner could have been a camp counsellor or such like. It's worth knowing more about his past to see where the link could be," she said, undoing her seat belt.

Hotch felt the urge to dash around the car and open the door for her, but he curbed it. Right now they were agents, and they had to prove to each other that any relationship between them would not spoil their working camaraderie.

He heard her phone chime as they approached the entrance, and paused while she checked the message. Her face lit up, and she gave him that wide, delighted smile. "What is it?" he said, hoping that she didn't think he was prying.

"It's from Sophie," she said. An image of the brown haired girl from Calverville Point sprung into his mind; an image of her smiling and looking hopeful. She'd been one they'd saved. "She's finally been discharged from hospital and is going on a date tonight with the boy she likes. She says, 'tell your boss hi. He's cute even if he is old.'" Emily chuckled loudly, her eyes dancing as she looked at him.

"I don't believe that last part for a second," Hotch said, the doors of the prison now in front of them. He made the most of the laughter; the next couple of hours were not going to be as light.

She pushed her cell at him. "Here – check!"

He took the phone to appease her, not really doubting her for a minute, which he knew she was aware of. Sophie had added a couple of other details, including a reminder for Emily to check her email as soon as she could. "She's been in touch a few times?" he said, passing back her cell.

Emily switched it off; they would have to hand in such items before they could interview Mulliner, as neither of them would want their privacy to be breached. "She sent me an email yesterday – only a short one. She'd managed to go down to the ward that Detective Winters is on and see Jolene. She also said that Carla was improving, although she was very tired from the operation. And then this today. I've no doubt that I'll get an almost second by second account of this date tonight."

"Shouldn't she be taking it easy?" Hotch said, signing the visitors' book while waiting for whoever was on reception to turn up.

Emily took the pen he offered. "It's actually a study date and he's coming round to help her catch up on what she's missed at school. You know her injuries weren't that bad, and she's tough."

"A little like someone else I know," he said quietly as a rather delicate looking woman appeared with a smile. "We're Agents Hotchner and Prentiss from the FBI. We're here to interview George Mulliner."

The curly blonde head nodded at him. "Yes, you're on the list. Mulliner's been taken to interview room three. In fact, he was moved there about two hours ago and given a rather more substantive breakfast than usual to make up for any discomfort he might undergo with your visit." Her tone and her eyes danced with sarcasm. "He's a delight, is our George. I'll let Robbie know you're here and he'll escort you over to him."

She disappeared , leaving Hotch feeling rather refreshed at meeting someone entirely different in a state penitentiary.

"Agent Hotchner?" a male voice called out as the owner turned a corner. "I'm Rob Meese. Would you mind checking in any firearms and personal belongings?" Hotch saw Meese's eyes travel to Emily and widen slightly. If he had any inclination to be jealous, the look of admiration Meese gave her would have been a trigger for it, but as it were, he knew she could hold her own and deflect any unwanted attention. He merely felt a little warmth grow inside him, the knowledge that it was himself that Emily was interested in, and then he pushed all thoughts of his personal life to one side.

Having checked everything in and been searched – Emily by a female guard who looked to be some relation of the woman on reception – they were led down a narrow corridor to a room with a tinted window and secured door. It was one of three they passed on the same row, but the only one occupied at present was where George Mulliner had been placed.

Hotch peered through the window, knowing that although Mulliner could not see them, he would be aware that they were there. The murderer was large in size, easily filling the chair he was now cuffed to. His hair was thinning, the fineness of the rest not doing him any favours, and his eyes looked like small dark holes buried in the puffiness of his face.

"He's not going to win any awards for Mr Universe, is he?" he heard Emily mutter. She seemed to stiffen slightly, looking as if she was bracing herself for entering the room.

"You want me to leave him cuffed?" Meese asked, looking at Hotch. "I'll be outside all the time – won't be going nowhere. Got my crossword to keep me busy."

Hotch shook his head. "No. Take the cuffs off." Mulliner wasn't another Chester Hardwick. He had nothing to gain by attempting to hurt them, in fact it was in his best interests to cooperate as much as he could.

"That's fine. George is generally quite placid. Being anything else takes up too much energy, burns off too many calories. And as you can see he doesn't like doing too much of that," Meese said, taking a set of keys out of his pocket. "Here goes. I'll be able to hear loud voices in there, so when you want out just shout or knock on the door."

Hotch entered first, letting Emily follow and Meese last. The door was closed behind them and Meese went to the chair to which Mulliner was cuffed. "Howdy George. You got those visitors I was telling you about."

"You never said one would be so pretty," Mulliner said. "I don't usually get to see pretty ladies, so you'll have to forgive me ma'am if I stare a little too much."

Hotch saw Emily nod, her expression neutral, giving away neither repulsion or gratification at the compliment. Mulliner had sounded sincere; it wasn't a line to try and provoke a response, or to gage Hotch's own reaction.

"I'm Agent Prentiss and this is Agent Hotchner and we're both with the FBI," Emily said, sitting down behind the desk. Meese had taken off Mulliner's handcuffs and passed them to Hotch before leaving, the door clicking behind him.

"And you're here about those letters I been getting. I thought I might have some visitors about that. So my pen pal isn't making this stuff up, right? He has been raping and killing these folk?" Mulliner's voice was slow but purposeful, his words chosen carefully.

"We think it may be linked to some attacks, or it's possibly just someone trying to elicit a response from you," Emily said, playing down the connection. They didn't want to give Mulliner any excuse to get excited by the crimes and his connection to them.

"Then I don't understand how I can help you, Agents, although you have brightened my day considerably. I don't have myself many visitors," he smiled at Emily, showing gaps where both of his bottom canines should have been.

"Isn't that because you request not to?" Emily said, her back set straight, her chin up.

Mulliner shrugged. "There're not many people I want to see. Can't say I want to see my pen pal either. No idea who he is."

If Hotch had a spider sense, it would have been tingling. Mulliner was lying, and he wasn't good at hiding it, not to a trained eye at least. "Then why would he contact you?" Hotch said. "There are two other, more prolific killers that focused on the elderly. You have only been charged with the murders of three women. You were caught easily, and only saved from a death sentence because yu cooperated with police. There has to be reason he's picked you."

Mulliner stared at him. The cordiality he had shown to Emily had down disappeared and Hotch saw something in Mulliner's eyes that would have been similar to what his victims had seen before he killed them.

"Like you said, Agent Hotchner, I've only been charged with three murders, but that don't mean there wasn't more," he smiled, showing the gaps again. "And I don't know why your guy has picked me. Maybe he finds me attractive." Mulliner chuckled, a low, eerie sound.

"Maybe this man met you once," Emily said. "You may have left an impression on him without you even noticing who he was." She had angled herself away from Hotch, trying to put up a division between them so Mulliner would see them as two separate entities rather than a team. They'd used this technique in the past when interviewing suspects and it was generally effective, given how well they could read and predict each other.

Mulliner tried to shrug, his shoulders blending too much into his neck to make much of an effect. "It's possible. Do you remember everyone you've ever met, Agent Prentiss? But I imagine they remember you."

Emily remained unmoved, physically at least. "People remember others for different reasons. Who do you remember in your life? Who stands out?"

Hotch sat back and watched Mulliner. His fascination was back focused on Emily, his eyes trained on her face.

"My mom. But most mothers do stand out, don't they. My mom was a poppet. Made me her best friend, and no one else's," he gave a laugh that came from the depths of his stomach, a guttural noise that Hotch knew he would hear in his nightmares. "And I remember Issy Jennings. She was so pretty. She went to my church and sang in the junior choir and I told my mom one day that I liked her. And you know what she said to me? She said, 'George, that girl is going to hell. You don't want to go to hell with her, now do you? You want to stay with your momma and go to heaven.' I asked her why Issy was going to hell and she said that was where beautiful people went because they put temptation in the way, like Eve did. You know, Agent Prentiss, my mom talked shit. You ain't going to no hell."

Hotch folded his arms and stared at Mulliner, eventually gaining his attention. Mulliner copied his body language unconsciously. In a way, he was beginning a battle for Mulliner's attention, only it wasn't Emily he was fighting. "Who else made an impression on you, George?" Hotch said. "It must have been more than just your mother. What about when you were a teenager?"

"I thought you wanted to find out who was sending those letters?" Mulliner said. "This ain't going to get the baby a bonnet, now is it?" His eyes switched back to Emily. "When I was a teenager I was one of three places. My home, with mom, my school or church. And that was it. The only time I was allowed outside was during recess at school."

"Who did you talk with?" Emily said, interrupting. "At recess."

"I bet you were popular at school, Agent Prentiss. I bet you had lots of friends. I didn't. I was the fat kid no one wanted to speak to. I tried though, I really did. I wanted friends. Just didn't know how to go about making them," Mulliner licked his lips, the gesture making Hotch feel a little on edge.

Emily had ignored it, seemingly oblivious. Hotch knew that as soon as they got back to Salt Lake City, she would want to shower. He was starting to feel the same way. "Did you have a buddy system at your school?" she said. "I know teachers often liked to try to get the kids who seemed lonely to be friends with the ones who were starting. Or maybe you went into the younger kids classes and helped them read?"

"If only you had been my teacher," Mulliner said. "I didn't get to do anything like that. My mom forbid me and I don't think the teachers would have thought I was suitable. Sometimes I wasn't nice to the other kids."

Emily shifted a little in her seat. "Why, what did you do?" she asked.

"I told them they were going to go to hell." The words were almost spat out. Again, Hotch felt a little on edge, as though there may be an impending explosion.

"Which children weren't going to hell?" Emily said, her voice soft and quiet, no fear being shown. It was almost as if she was talking to a child, and in some ways she was. "The church children. Just our church. Not the Mormons. We would all go to heaven."

"Do you think this man who's writing to you will go to heaven?" she said. "He's carried on your work."

Mulliner laughed and looked away from Emily for the first time in minutes. "You know what I did. I kept killing my mother because I never got the chance to. He's not carrying on my work; he's doing his own. And I don't know why he's writing to me. I don't know him, do I?"

There was a challenge to the question and Hotch took it. "You see, I think you do, or you at least suspect who it could be." Hotch stood up. "We're done here, Agent Prentiss. We've got what we came for."

Emily was half standing when Mulliner flew for her, aiming for her throat, but Hotch had anticipated the move and slammed him into the desk before he'd fully stood up, his forearms on the back of Mulliner's neck. He looked up at Emily as the door clicked open and Meese raced in, along with another guard. Emily rolled her eyes at him and shrugged; she'd seen the attack coming too.

Hotch let his grip go, leaving the two guards to secure Mulliner who was no longer fighting, simply laughing. "You'll be back," he said. "I have something you want."

Hotch shook his head and laughed back. "No, George. _I_ have something _you _want."

"I don't want her! She's too young!" Mulliner called, sounding almost offended.

"I know," Hotch said. "I have your letters. The ones you haven't seen yet. The ones that feed your fantasies and make you wake up in the night in a cold sweat because they help you remember what you did. He's not acting _for _you, George, he's acting alongside you. Because every time you read what he says, he's reminding you of what you did. But you won't see these letters, George." Hotch slipped a hand into his jacket pocket and waved copies of the letters at him. He sat back down, as did Emily. "Thank you," he said to the guards. "We should be fine to continue. Could Agent Prentiss and I have a coffee?" The guards left, and Hotch maintained the silence until the door was closed and locked.

Emily stood behind him, her back to the wall, letting Hotch take the centre stage. He felt her heat behind him, and caught the faint scent of her perfume. He maintained his neutral expression, but couldn't help the feeling of being complete; that he was no longer alone – in adult terms anyway.

"How many letters haven't I seen?" Mulliner said, his voice now quiet and almost a hiss. "I'd like to apologise to Agent Prentiss."

Emily said nothing, and seemed to be staring Mulliner out, winning as Mulliner reverted his eyes back to Hotch.

"You've read two. I have four more in my hand." Hotch let his words dance, enjoying this feeling of control.

"And for me to read them, you want me to tell you who he is?" Mulliner said, defeat in his voice.

"Yes."

"Then I won't be able to see the letters. You see, Agent Hotchner, I don't know who he is. I suspect he is someone I met once or twice, but then I did meet a great deal of screwed up people, and pretty much any one of them could have done this," Mulliner said. "And if you're going to ask about names, then it's not going to happen. I can only remember the faces."

"When you write back to him, what do you call him?" Hotch said. "I doubt you use his real name."

Mulliner stared at him, unblinking. "You didn't hear me Agent Hotchner. I _don't_ know who he is."

Hotch stood up, tucking the four envelopes away. Mulliner had already seen them, Hotch was certain. There were in fact only two that had been intercepted by the guard. Hotch's lie that there had been more was merely a water tester. Mulliner hadn't taken the bait.

Emily walked to the door and knocked. It opened immediately. Hotch followed her out, hearing a stunned silence coming from Mulliner. He would get in touch with them, Hotch knew. After a few days, after hearing about the murder and assault of Alberto Costas, he would want to know more about the letters he was supposedly missing. Because that was all he had.

"Mandy's got you a coffee ready," Meese said, his eyes still lingering on Emily.

"Thank you," Emily said. She looked up at Hotch, her expression telling him that she wanted to get out of there. "Mandy's the lady on reception, right?"

Meese nodded. "You can find your way there okay?" He was staring at Emily again, clearly hoping that she'd say no.

"I'm sure we'll be fine," Hotch said, moving into Meese's personal space. Meese back away and Hotch felt a little guilty. He seemed like a nice guy. "Thanks for being so prompt with entering the room. I've been in situation where the guards haven't been as quick."

Meese shook his head slightly. "Just doing my job, Agent Hotchner. I hope your visit here's been useful and you catch the son of a bitch who's doing this quick."

Hotch gave an almost imperceptible nod, then began to follow Emily down the corridor toward the reception. Two coffees and their belongings were waiting for them, along with another prison guard. He checked everything through thoroughly, calling in a female colleague to oversee Emily. Hotch then took a few token mouthfuls of the coffee, and they left the building, just in time to see a couple of women entering as visiting hours for some prisoners began.

"I get the feeling we'll be back here soon," Emily said as they reached the vehicle. "He's not told us anywhere near everything, but I think I know the connection between Mulliner and our UnSub. We just need Garcia to run a few checks, if she can."

Hotch raised his eyebrows at her as they both sat down in the car. "You think it's something to do with the church he belonged to."

Emily nodded. "He wouldn't befriend someone who he thought was going to hell. I'll call Garcia and get her to check links between Mulliner's church and others throughout the state. I remember reading from the files that it was a pretty unusual denomination." She pulled out her cell from her pocket and switched it back on.

Starting the car, he realised that Emily was still looking at her phone. "Is there something wrong?" he said.

She shook her head. "No reception. Which is weird because there was when we arrived here and there's no way my cell's been tampered with." She was quiet for a few more seconds. "It's back now. That's better."

He listened in as she spoke to Garcia, who seemed a little frantic judging by Emily's responses. Emily cast him a harassed look as she confirmed a couple of details before hanging up. "Apparently, Morgan's been going through an endless list of suppliers to the homes and accommodations, so Garcia's up to her eyeballs in different searches. She says she'll be as quick as 'super-humanly possible'. And those were her words, not mine."

Hotch let a smile break free and was rewarded with one from her. The atmosphere between them was warming the coldness in the vehicle, and they were now more relaxed than they had been on the way there.

"You know, Hotch," Emily said, glancing at the map that was open. "We're only a few miles from the care home where Gerald Morris was. Wouldn't it be worth going there and seeing if any of the staff recall the incident? There's bound to be someone around who remembers the weeks before. I know memory can play tricks on people..."

"I'll send Morgan later," Hotch said, interrupting.

"But we're literally..."

"No. Leave it, Prentiss." A stabbing feeling hit his chest. He wasn't going there; not now, not ever.

A quick look from the corner of his eye told him that he'd hurt and annoyed her. He blocked the urge to tell her why, quickly building another wall.

"That's fine, Agent Hotchner," she said, her tone ice cold. "I'm sure there's a good reason."

_And I'm sure there's a good reason for you acting like a frozen, emotionally repressed, idiot of a man_, he knew what the end of her sentence was, and he couldn't disagree.

But he couldn't tell her either.

* * *

_Now, don't throw any vegetables at me. I promised you happy endings, and ye who shall be patient shall get them. Eventually._

_Please review – and what's your New Year's resolution?_

_Sarah x_


	7. Chapter 7

_Thank you to those who have reviewed and messaged me in one way or another. *Waves* to anyone from LJ who is reading this!_

_I hope everyone has had a good New Year! Back to work for me tomorrow, so I'll need to keep escaping to my little universe..._

_Thank you to __**Kavi Leighanna**_ _for reading through and discussion!!_

**Humanity**

"When our relatives are at home, we have to think of all their good points or it would be impossible to endure them."

- George Bernard Shaw

**Chapter Seven**

The seagulls had taken rather a long time to swoop off, and one in particular was lucky he hadn't had his feathers plucked by a rather impatient David Rossi. JJ smiled wryly at the recent memory. James Savage, from the Salt Lake Evening News, had persisted with questions long after the rest of the media had flown their merry way. Some of them had sounded innocuous, fishing for details of the autopsy and such that would give his article shock value. A couple of things he'd said had caused Rossi's ears to prick and JJ's spine to tingle; they were things he shouldn't have known, that hadn't been made public.

"You think this UnSub's contacting someone other than the relatives and George Mulliner?" she said to Rossi as they climbed into the standard black vehicle. "There's no other way Savage would have known about some of the details of the last two attacks, and about the letters, unless he had insider information."

Rossi put the car into drive, slowing down to let one of the journalists cross the road without running him over, although JJ could tell he would have liked to. "We need to speak with Barry, Burrows and Clegg again later and check their opinions on whether they have a leaky cistern. But I think it could be a possibility. Unfortunately, if the UnSub has contacted Mr Savage, I don't see us finding out through polite means. The guy's an obnoxious, ambitious rodent who is more interested in furthering his own career than actually helping public interest and putting a murderer behind bars."

JJ nodded, glancing out of the window at the passing city scenery. The relatives of Alberto Costas lived south of Salt Lake in Draper, bordering close to the Wasatch National Forest. It was around a forty minute drive away, although JJ knew they could shave at least five minutes from that with Rossi driving. "I've contacted Marjorie Heys' son," JJ said as Rossi put his foot on the accelerator to get them through a set of lights before they changed. "He works about twenty minutes from where Mariah James lives, so I thought it was worth seeing him while we were nearby."

JJ contented herself with looking out of the window, watching the city buildings change to suburban ones. Rossi was preoccupied with his own thoughts, and it was nice to have a few minutes quiet. There would be little opportunity for peace over the course of the next few days, if previous cases were anything to go by, the gathering of the team later when they discussed a preliminary profile would be loud and with heated discussions. JJ wasn't a profiler, and had no desire to be one, but while that was going on, she would be fielding calls from the media, and in some cases the public. So a few minutes silence now was bliss.

The ringing of her cell broke the quiet, and she pulled it out of her pocket to see Morgan's name as the caller ID. She answered, hoping it was not bad news, that another body hadn't been discovered.

"Derek," she said, not needing any formalities. "

"Jayje – is Rossi driving?" Morgan said. She could hear Reid in the background, seemingly talking to himself.

"He is, although if he goes any faster I think we'll be flying."

"Put you cell on speaker, would you?"

JJ flicked a switched. "You're on," she said to Morgan. "Dave, slow down please. I'd like to see my son again." She widened her eyes as she saw the speed they were travelling at.

"Rossi," Morgan's voice rang out clear in the car. "I've been looking over the witness statements from the care workers at the homes of both Costas and Heys, and there're a couple of things I think we could do with checking with the families."

Reid's voice seemed to grow louder in the background.

"Reid," Morgan was holding the phone away from him. "Keep it down, would you? Sorry," he returned in full volume. "Kid's got a bee in his underwear about something. Anyway, witnesses from both homes report they'd noticed postcards being sent to the victim in the weeks prior to the attack. When asked, both Costas and Heys became secretive about the cards and said they were from their family. I think the UnSub had contacted them before."

"If he had," Rossi said, his speed now significantly reduced, much to JJ's relief, "then it may be that he has a hit list. The victims may not be opportunistic, he might not have been to the homes working there or delivering, he may be seeking these people out."

"I'm still cross referencing contractors with Garcia so we don't miss anything," Morgan said. "But the second thing is from the crime scene reports; a plain silver ring was found underneath the pillows of both victims. I don't know how this detail's been missed so far, but I find it unusual. Can you check with their families to see if this was a possession they knew about? I'm thinking it's something our UnSub left behind."

"Sounds likely," Rossi said. "Keep us informed. Oh, and Derek..."

"Rossi?"

"Next time you call, put the kid outside first."

There was a chuckle before the line went dead, leaving JJ staring at her cell. "Morgan seems to be in a better mood than yesterday," she said, putting it back in her pocket.

"I think he's been absorbed by the case a little more," Rossi said. "He was still acting unusually this morning. I've got my eye on him, JJ, don't worry."

She flicked her gaze to Rossi, then back out the window, noticing a sky that seemed a familiar shade of grey. "I wonder what had bothered him," she said, almost absently, her thoughts on the snow that the sky looked about to shed.

Rossi decelerated, taking a left turn off the main road toward the mountains. "I suspect it's burn out combined with something more personal. We'll find out when he's good and ready, unless he goes off the rails and one of us has to intervene."

"Let's hope he gets over it quickly," JJ said, reaching down into her briefcase to pull out the notes she had on Alberto Costas' family. They were heading to the home of his daughter, Mariah James, who was forty-eight and lived with her husband and their daughter. Her eldest child, Sebastian James, lived in Nevada, not far from Reno, with his seven year old step-son. From what details Garcia had managed to track down, all ties with Sebastian had been cut after he had dropped out of college, preferring a different life to the one his family had envisaged for him.

Rossi pulled up at gates and wound down the window, announcing their presence to the speaker. A minutes or so later and the gates opened, and Rossi drove onto the Costas' property, parking immediately outside their front door.

A moat and drawbridge wouldn't have looked amiss. The house was almost palatial, built to the present owners' specification and had probably cost more than JJ was likely to earn in a life time. She wondered why Mariah James had put her father in a care home when he became unable to look after himself instead of employing a nurse, but figured that as she didn't know everything about their circumstances, she was in a position to judge. From what Garcia had discovered, Alberto Costas had very little money himself, and the bills for the upmarket care home were met by his son-in-law, Andrew.

The double door opened and a slender woman with salon styled hair stood there, her face pale. JJ figured her to be Mariah and greeted her as such.

"Thank you for coming out here to see me," she said. "I don't think I could have faced entering a police station again."

She led them into a large sitting room, complete with an over-sized TV that even Will would have said was too big. The room was furnished expensively, but it still looked lived in and used, unlike some houses JJ had been in where the rooms looked like they belonged in a museum, "Can I get you a drink – coffee maybe, or we do have tea in."

"Thank you," Rossi said, taking a seat with his back to the window. JJ knew he was looking around the room for clues to profile the daughter, and understand better the UnSub's choice of victim. "We'll have coffee."

JJ caught Rossi's eye and followed Mariah through to the kitchen. "How are you holding up?" she said as the woman switched on an integrated coffee machine that JJ figured would have cost in excess of three thousand dollars.

Mariah shrugged, and JJ saw the red-rimmed eyes that even the most carefully applied make-up couldn't hide. "He was my father, and I could have done better by him. You don't consider your parents much, do you? When you're a kid they look after you; when you're a teen, they annoy you; when you're an adult, they're dispensable, and in some cases a burden." She sighed, the sound tear-ridden. "I saw my father once a week, most weeks, because I felt I had to see him, rather than wanting to. " She looked at JJ with brown eyes as dark as cocoa. "And you're a perfect stranger, and I'm telling you this."

"What was your father like?" JJ said. "Sometimes it helps to talk about the person."

Mariah reached over to the fridge and pulled out both milk and cream. "He was a kind man. He'd lived in Utah all his life, always working for other people. He wasn't a skilled man, but he was honest and hard working. His father was a Greek immigrant, and left his mother soon after my father was born. Alberto didn't want to be like him, and he succeeded." She put the milk and cream on the tray, the coffee machine beeping quietly to announce its completion. "I know little about him. My life always seemed too busy to find out much about his."

JJ placed a hand on Mariah's forearm. "I imagine your father wanted it that way. He would have wished for you to have a life that progressed from his."

To JJ's surprised the woman shook her hand off, turning abruptly. "We'll never know what my father wanted," she said, her voice now cold and hard. She pulled the jug of coffee from the machine and set it on the tray, carrying it into the sitting room without so much as a second glance at JJ.

Rossi was stood beside the fireplace, handling photographs set out in silver frames. He turned and smiled, his expression giving none of his thoughts away. "Thank you, Mrs James," Rossi said, sitting back down and reaching for a cup to pour coffee in. "I appreciate that you are going through a hard time at the moment."

Mariah nodded. "What is it I can do for you? I've just explained to your colleague that I didn't know Alberto well as a man, only as a father."

Rossi nodded, his eyes studying her. "And that is how he'd like you to remember him, as I imagine that was his most important role in his life; to take care of you as his daughter." JJ watched as Rossi gave her time to respond. When she didn't he continued, clearly realising that there were only so many details to be had from this woman. "In the weeks before your father was murdered he was received postcards that he says were from you or someone in your family. He wouldn't show anyone the postcards and we don't know what was written on them. Were you aware of them?"

Mariah held Rossi's gaze for a moment before shaking her head. "I wasn't aware of him receiving any postcards, and I certainly didn't send any. My daughter may have, and I can't speak for my son, although I'm sure they wouldn't have been from him as he hasn't been in contact with anyone from this family for nearly three years." She looked downcast again, however strong her words were.

A door creaked open, making JJ jump, and a tall, willowy girl of about eighteen stood there. Her hair was long and chestnut in colour, and JJ wouldn't have been surprised if someone told her that she was going to be on next month's cover of _Vogue_. "I saw one of the postcards," she said, heading straight for the coffee and one of the two mugs left.

"Can you remember what it was of?" Rossi said. His inability to be shocked or surprised by anything was one of the aspects of his character JJ found most amusing. It didn't matter where they were, or what they heard or saw, he acted like it was an everyday occurrence.

"Are you from the FBI?" she said. "I'm Amelia James, but I guess you've worked that out."

JJ left Rossi to it as the girl was staring at him as if she knew him. "I'm Agent David Rossi and this is Agent Jennifer Jareau. We're investigating your grandfather's murder."

"Oh," Amelia said. She sat down, looking at them rather aloofly. "One of my friends at college was reading one of your books."

It was a tough job to not roll her eyes. It didn't matter what town or city they went to, Rossi would always have a fan, although she had to remind herself that she would have been that fan once.

"I hoped they liked it," he said, taking a long drink of the coffee before putting the cup down on the nearest side table. "Can you remember what was on the postcard? Was it a photograph of a place or monument maybe?"

Amelia shrugged. "It was a picture of a place, I think. It looked like it was a park of some type. I looked at the words as well." She paused, her eyes flicking between the three adults.

"Well," said Rossi. "What was written on it?"

"Something about footsteps and travelling of those who have already been here. It also asked how he was, and whether he was looking forward to 'my return' – as in the writer's return. I only remember because Grandpa was really odd when he saw me with the card. He told me to get out. I'd never seen him lose the plot like that before," Amelia said, looking at her mother with a challenge in her eyes.

Mariah leaned forward, pointing a perfectly polished nail at her daughter. "You never told me about this."

Amelia shrugged her shoulder and laughed. "Like it would have made any difference, mother. Besides, it was when you were away in the Caribbean with dad, and by the time you'd returned I had forgotten about it."

"How can you laugh after what's happened?" Mariah said, the words catching in her throat. "How can you be so cold?"

"Ladies," Rossi said, drawing both set of eyes to him immediately as he stood up. "It's easy to place blame and argue between yourselves, but we really need some more information from you if we are to catch Alberto Costas' killer. We either of you aware of a plain silver ring that he might have owned?"

"He didn't wear silver," Mariah said immediately. "He was allergic to it. My son is too. Why? Why do you want to know that? I mean, one of the other people in the home could have given it to him as a present and my father would have been too kind to have turned it down."

JJ shifted on the chair, finding it uncomfortable. "A silver ring was found underneath his pillow the night he died. We need to find out if it was his or not. Mrs James, was there anything your father found uncomfortable to discuss?" She remembered what Morgan had said about a potential hit list. If that was the case then there must be something in Alberto Costas' past that had made him the target for a killer.

Mariah seemed to stumble over her words, almost choking on them. She looked up to her daughter, who looked as if she was the child about to administer a telling off.

"Mom wouldn't know," Amelia said. "She went to visit her dad and just told him what she was doing, never asked about him much, did you?" She reaffirmed what Mariah had said in the kitchen, taking JJ aback some. People often exaggerated their lack of action, but it seems Mariah had not, at least according to her daughter.

"I did. I..."

"...Just wasn't interested in what life was like before your family had money." It was then JJ noticed Amelia's dress. Her jeans were ordinary Levi's, and although her sweater looked good on her, it wasn't branded. A quiet rebellion against the family's wealth.

"Did you know of any part of your grandfather's life he shielded?" Rossi said, looking directly at Amelia and addressing her before Mariah could retort.

Amelia drank her coffee, and for the first time since she had entered the room, JJ noticed that she seemed upset. "He used to tell me stories about the different places in Utah where he lived, and he'd describe them all, make them seem like pictures in my head, he'd describe them that well. When I used to ask him what he did there, what sort of stuff he got up to, he'd never answer."

"And this was before he moved to Cedar Hills?" Rossi said. "What did he say if you asked about it?"

A dog began barking in the distance, drawing JJ's attention outside. A tall, handsome man, was outside, dressed in smart but casual attire, but looking solemn.

"Dad's back," Amelia said, as if that ended the conversation. "Grandpa – he would just say that the only things he wanted to remember were the landscapes. He liked to draw them too. I have some of what he did in my room. Would they be useful for you to look at?" She seemed helpful all of a sudden, and JJ wondered what it had to do with the arrival of her father.

"If we could borrow them, that would be great," Rossi said. JJ wondered what else he was hearing beside her words. "I'll make sure you get them back as soon as possible. Do you draw, Amelia?" His last sentence reached her just before she left the room.

Her footsteps froze. "I do. I'm not as good as Grandpa though. I would have liked to have studied art at college, but it's not a good enough subject according to mother."

"Do you think you could sketch the picture you saw on the postcard?" he said, ignoring everything after 'I do'.

She nodded, her father now standing behind her. "I can try. I'd rather paint it, if that's okay, and I'll bring it to you if you can tell me where I'll find you."

Mr James looked round; his expression that of a just woken animal who thought it'd missed something crucial. He was ignored by his wife and daughter, only Rossi making eye contact and giving him a brief nod. "We're at Salt Lake PD Headquarters – you know where that is?"

She nodded. "I've been there a couple of times," she turned and looked at her father. "Haven't I, daddy."

JJ stood up, seeing Rossi look at her and nod. They'd achieved all they could here, for the moment anyway, and she wasn't feeling sorry to leave. "If there's anything else any of you think of, please get in touch." She handed her card to Mariah, and another to Amelia as she got to the door. "And we'll see you later with your painting. It could be extremely helpful to us if we know what was on the card." She looked the teenager straight in the eye, trying to make sure she understood just how important. Amelia did not avert her gaze, nodding instead, her face serious.

Rossi held the door open for JJ, nodding a goodbye to the father and Mariah, Amelia already making her way up the large staircase. As they got into the car, they heard shouting, Mariah's voice. JJ glanced at Rossi, an almost world weary look in his eyes.

"I've seen that before," he said, starting up the car. "Let's just hope we get more out of the next place.

* * *

"Okay, hot stuff, here's what I've got so far." Penelope Garcia switched keyboards with a swivel of her chair and a flick of a freshly manicured finger. She was almost happy to have her team out from under her feet for a few days, as long as none of them got up to anything that would put them in the way of a bullet, or end up in a hostage situation. Thanks to Kevin, a hot bath and a full body massage, she'd avoided nightmares so far. Although it had just been one night.

"Go ahead, Penelope."

"What? No affectionate come back? And what is eating your chips, my vat of velvet smoothness?" His tone worried her. It had been worrying her all morning, truth be told. The usual bounce in his voice was absent, the bubbles were lacking, although he was certainly being efficient in his investigative work.

"We need to get a handle on this as soon as possible, Garcia," he said. "What links have you come up with?"

She sighed, still concerned. "I've got 24 companies that have been used by the six residences where attacks have been carried out in the past five years. Ten of those have used sub-contractors on a regular basis – this is for things like electrical testing of appliances, plumbing and general small scale maintenance. That makes for quite a long list. My next job is to cross-reference individuals within those companies to see if any names match up. And that's where I hit a non-computer wall, because I know for sure at least half a dozen of those companies hire people on a casual basis, so they'll be no records for me to dig up."

"See what you can do. If we're lucky, the same name may come up as having worked at these places. If not, we could be here for some time."

Garcia heard Reid in the background saying something about words. She strained to listen. "What's the matter with Reid?" she said, not quite being able to tell what he was saying.

A loud sigh almost blew down her ear. "He's reading through all the letters that have so far been send by the UnSub. He keeps repeated a few sentences as he thinks there's something there that he's not connecting. I'll have to go, Garcia. Keep me informed." He hung up, leaving Garcia staring at her montage of monitors, wondering where her Derek Morgan was and who had hijacked his body.

After setting up one search on employees' names, she began a separate hunt on something she should have done earlier: checking for crimes with a similar MO in other states. She gasped when she saw the results of the wider search; the number of crimes against people over the age of sixty was heartbreaking. She narrowed it down, using key words that fit the attacks they did know about.

A couple of minutes later, and two unsolveds did a danse macabre before her eyes. Both had taken place in Nevada, a stone's throw from the state line with Utah. Both victims had since died; the attacks having taken place six years ago.

She eyed the digital photo frame on her desk, an image of the team currently on show. They were all smiling at Kevin as he took the picture, Morgan shouting something that had made them laugh. Garcia groaned, knowing that the phone call she was about to make was about to turn their day a lot darker.

* * *

_You know what to do people! And seeing as going back to work is PAINFUL reviews would really brighten my day and encourage me to write when I get home knackered! So now is the time to delurk..._

_And, question for those who wish to partake, what would you like to see happen in the rest of season 5 (apart from the obvious H/P interaction, 'cause that's a given!)_


	8. Chapter 8

_I need to put a disclaimer that I should have done some time ago. The places I've chosen in Utah are real names of towns, however I have used artistic license and photos of other places in Utah when describing them! I mean no offence to anyone familiar with Utah – it seems a beautiful state and I'd love to go see it for read some day. _

_Thank you to __**Kavi Leighanna**__ once again for the beta and read through, and thank you to everyone who reviewed._

**Humanity**

"The person who tries to live alone will not succeed as a human being. His heart withers if it does not answer another heart. His mind shrinks away if he hears only the echoes of his own thoughts and finds no other inspiration."

- Pearl S. Buck

**Chapter Eight**

He'd said very little during the journey back to the police department, keeping the topic solely on George Mulliner and the content of their interview. He hadn't looked at her once, keeping his eyes solely on the road. Emily had blocked the torrent of emotions that she should've felt. For a start, she was more rational that most people, so she dealt with Hotch's abrasiveness judiciously; there would be a logical – but emotional – reason for not wanting to go to the other care home, and clearly it was something he didn't want to deal with right now. It was not personal. However, there was also the niggling seed of doubt now planted inside her mind that he was now just going to push her away, that there was no way he would ever allow her close to him. It was the latter she would have to deal with once they got home. Any analysis of her feelings right now would only distract her from the case.

Maybe she and Hotch wasn't such a good idea.

They'd headed back to the hotel first, after hearing Garcia's discovery of two more attacks that fit their UnSub's M.O. Hotch called Morgan, telling him that they'd be there in half an hour, just to give them time to freshen up after the jail visit. Emily appreciated the quick shower and change of clothes, rinsing the grime she'd collected on her skin from Mulliner's words and breath, and pushing Hotch out of her head, focusing everything she had on the case instead. The body wash that was meant to smell of sunshine did little to enhance her mood, although it did rid the odour of Mulliner that had hung in her memory.

Hotch had knocked on her door just after she'd applied a spray of perfume, completing her disinfectant routine. She paused before answering, her eyes lingering on the place where they'd kissed the night before, and she murdered the feeling of anticipation that was lingering in her stomach. "Sir," she said, a little cuttingly as she answered the door. A flicker of emotion crossed his face and she knew she'd made her point. She hadn't intended to; she'd hoped she could just leave it and move on, but she needed to make sure he was aware of the damage he'd done with just a few irrational words.

"Emily," he said, the salutation of Prentiss having now been dropped. "About before..."

"You don't need to explain, Aaron," she said, knowing damn well he did. "We're on a case – personal issues should be left as that. Personal." She watched his reaction, taking a perverse pleasure out of the effect she was having on him. "What thoughts have you had about the attacks in Nevada?"

She'd given him no opportunity to explain, rushing him onto professional business. It was a planned move; and one not just for self-preservation, but also one that would sit as training for him, should anything between them continue.

"We need to have a look at the case files and speak with the detective in charge. Both attacks were within five miles of each other, and didn't take place in care homes, but in houses where the victims had lived for years," he said. She could feel him watching her as she closed her door.

"Has Garcia pulled out any connection between the two?" she said, feeling that this could be a potential break.

Hotch nodded. "They were members of the same church, although as it was a small town, with only the one church, we can't say if that's coincidence or a link." They began to pace towards the elevator, Emily looking straight ahead although she could feel Hotch's eyes flicking to her every few seconds.

The silence was anything but a feather bed as they walked across from the hotel to the station. A few flakes of snow floated down, the weather assisting Utah's claim to have the best snow on earth. She'd skied here as a girl, on vacation with her parents. She'd been seventeen, not as impressionable as when she'd been fifteen, but still naive enough to fall for the advances of the ski instructor. Her mother had ignored the tryst, probably grateful for it, as it had pushed Emily through the other phase she'd been going through.

The police department was grimly dark against the flakes of white snow. It was an older building than the ones that stood beside it, a testament to the architecture of Salt Lake's past. Behind it stood mountains, dwarfing the even the taller buildings. For a moment she felt awed by them, their creation an act out of human control.

"We complain about the travelling sometimes, but just imagine never having seen this," she said, her silent feud pushed aside.

She saw Hotch look up at the mountains and nod. "Their size puts almost everything into perspective." _Everything apart from murder_, Emily knew he meant. For the taking of another's life could never been overestimated.

He held the door open for her, and followed her down the maze of corridors to the room they had been allocated by Detective Barry. The station was in a different league to the one they'd been in at Calverville Point. Whereas that one was small and box like, almost Old West in style; this was grand and large, its designed old modern and making a statement.

Morgan was sat at a desk, looking through a pile of printed sheets. He had less of a hang-dog expression about him than earlier, although Emily wasn't entirely positive that everything had been resolved.

"How was George Mulliner?" he said, looking up at them, and turning a piece of paper over. Emily noticed he's scribbled a few notes at the side of the text.

Hotch took off his jacket and sat down. "Interesting," he said. "He has an idea of who it is, but he's not giving it up."

"What do you mean by 'idea'?" Morgan said, stretching his back. Reid was conspicuously absent, and Emily wondered if Morgan had finally snapped and locked him in a cupboard somewhere.

Emily stood with her back to a heater, absorbing its warmth. "Mulliner gave the impression that there're a few people he could think of with the motivation to commit those crimes, probably someone connected to the church he was forced to be involved with."

"The only issue with George Mulliner's church is that it was mobile," all eyes fell on Reid as he entered the room. "They had a base, but it was part of their mission, or so they thought, to visit other towns and attract converts. Mulliner's mother was a key figure in doing this, and she and George would spend every other weekend somewhere new, knocking on doors and attempting to 'spread the word'. So if you're looking for someone George met through religion, it may be a long search."

Emily waited for Morgan's sarcastic comment about someone having stayed up all night reading up, but it never came. "How old was Mulliner when he stopped accompanying his mother?" Emily said, knowing this was a fact she should be aware of.

"He never did until she died, and even then he didn't completely stop. It appears he gained entry to one of his victim's houses by acting as someone from the church, thus gaining her confidence," Reid said. He pushed his hands into the pockets of his brown corduroy pants that he seemed to be favouring at the moment and looked expectantly at Hotch and Emily. "I've pulled some sentences out of the letters he sent to the victims and George Mulliner that I think are key, but I think I should wait until Rossi and JJ are back to save going through it twice."

"How are you doing on a geographical profile?" Hotch said, looking at the map of Utah that had been placed in the middle of the table. A few markers had been placed to mark where the attacks by their UnSub had taken place, but little else had been added.

Reid sat down, his attention now on the map also. He picked up the red marker and placed a question mark on the town in Nevada. "I'm not sure if it's relevant to begin it," he said, looking over at Hotch. "If our guy has got a hit list, then geography is irrelevant."

Hotch nodded, and the room became filled with their thoughts, uninterrupted until the door opened and JJ and Rossi entered, Rossi dusting flakes of snow from his shoulders.

"Bad case of dandruff there, Dave," Emily couldn't resist.

Rossi glared at her, making her smile further, and he removed his long black coat before sitting next to Reid. JJ found the heater, looking semi-frozen.

Emily sat next to Hotch, her usual warmth being chilled by the blizzard he'd created between them. It would have looked strange to the rest of the team, she figured, if she hadn't have sat with him, especially as they had just spent the morning together. Then again, she may have been over analysing things.

"How did things go at the relatives of Costas and Heys?" Hotch said, glancing between JJ and Rossi.

Rossi rubbed his hands together and Emily made a mental note to buy him a pair of gloves. "Neither family recalls a silver ring being owned by either of the victims, and no post cards were sent, to their knowledge, by any family members. Alberto Costas' granddaughter did see one of the post cards. She's recreating the image on the front for us, and she did remember some of the words from the back." He scrambled for his notebook. "'Footsteps and travelling of those who have already been there.'" Rossi looked around the table.

Emily noticed Reid's face light up, and a triumphant smile curled at the corners of his mouth. "That fits perfectly with some of the lines from the UnSub's letters," he said. "_We are travelling in the footsteps of those who've gone before_. It's a line from the hymn 'Oh When the Saints go Marching In. Other fragments of the lyrics have been used in the letters to the victims. He seems particularly fond of referring to being 'reunited' and the promise of a 'sunlit shore' – that comes up in every letter he's sent so far to the victim. In two of the letters to George Mulliner he mentions the' moon turning red with blood', which again is a lyric from the same hymn."

Emily felt a shiver run down her spine, an internal coldness freezing any heat. "'_I used to have a playmate who would walk and talk with me, but since she got religion she has turned her back on me,'_" she said, looking across the table at Reid. "It's traditionally a funeral march and contains imagery taken from the Book of Revelations. The verse I've just quoted is one that's sometimes added in – there are no specifically set verses, except for the chorus."

"The UnSub refers to 'playmate' and backs being turned," Reid said. "Everything I can deduce about him from these letters suggests that he's intelligent and organised. His letters to Mulliner are not full of rants. They seem more precise than that."

"And if he's precise and organised, then there's a very strong possibility that he's choosing his victims for a reason. They're not randomly picked based on his driving route or places he's been to as an odd-job man," Morgan said. "He has a hit list."

"But his intentions are not just to kill," Emily said, her hands now palm upwards on the table as she explained her thoughts. "He stalks them. The postcards he sends – it's not just one, it's several. He's watching them, and probably tormenting them. It's only in the last two attacks that it's progressed to murder, so what has made these last two different from his previous victims?" She felt Hotch's leg brush against hers, probably accidentally, she figured, and she crossed her legs, removing the contact. She noticed his facial expression turn darker out of the corner of his eye, and felt a flurry of guilt.

"Marjorie Heys was an elementary school teacher. She had a perfect teaching record; no complaints were ever made against her and she was well regarded by her colleagues and pupils. She taught in Emery County, Utah, all her life," Morgan said. "If someone had chosen her for a reason, it would have to be a very personal one. The lady was almost a saint."

Silence fell like an avalanche as he said the last word.

"Tell me about Alberto Costas," Hotch said. "He had no convictions, no arrests, clean driving licence all his life. What else do we know?"

Morgan shrugged. "That's about it. He worked locally; self-employed. His tax returns were always complete and he declared things most people wouldn't have bothered to. It was the same for Elsie Norwood. She was a housewife, never worked, never even owned a credit card, and the only bank account she had was a joint one with her husband. Both Janice Allen and Gerald Morris are the same. Allen was a nurse, never married and retired at the age of sixty five with more commendations than I've eaten hot dinners. Morris was a pharmacist and worked in the same place in Tooele County for forty years. Hotch, I have searched and searched and cannot find any occasion when any of the victims may have met."

Hotch nodded. "There is no connection between the victims, part from that they have all, in some way, aggravated our UnSub. These are revenge killings, although as we profiled on the plane, he is also regaining the power and control that was lost to him as a child or adolescent. Victimology is the key here," he checked his watch. "It's two-thirty. Prentiss and Morgan, you head to Peace Fields Residential Care Home and interview the staff there about the events prior to Gerald Morris' attack. He has a daughter who lives twenty minutes from there, who may be able to tell us more about his life."

Emily noticed that he hadn't even glanced at her as he spoke, focusing instead on the information in front of him with the addresses and details of the victims and their relatives.

Rossi twitched in his seat, pulling a face that told Emily he'd been rattled by a thought for some time. "At the moment, he's only attacked people in care homes and assisted living accommodation. That can't be a coincidence. He must have access to databases that give details of the people he's looking for, that wouldn't necessarily cover people still living alone or with relatives."

"Who would have access to information like that?" Hotch said. "The first person that comes to my mind is someone working for insurance companies. I'll have Garcia look into that. JJ and Reid: Elsie Norwood is now being cared for at a specialist care home for people suffering from dementia. I'm unsure as to what information she could provide, but her son lives a half hour drive from there. He may certainly be worth a visit."

"I'll go see Janice Allen," Rossi said. "She's only a fifteen minute walk away and the snow seems to have eased off."

Emily glanced out of the window; Rossi was right, the snow had ceased, leaving a sugar coating on the tops of cars and the sidewalk.

"We'll work on the preliminary profile this evening," Hotch said. "Detective Barry is expecting us to deliver it in the morning. I'll stay back here and carry on with victimology. Can everyone make sure they stay in touch and report back to me as soon as they can so we can put a full picture together as soon as possible?"

Nods went round the room as papers were picked up, along with a murmur of 'I'm driving' from JJ. Seeing as she'd spent the morning with Rossi as her chauffeur, Emily wasn't surprised she wanted to take control of the wheel.

She followed Morgan out of the room, noticing how anxious he seemed to get outside. Glancing back as she closed the door, she saw Hotch, his brow frowning as he stared at the wipe boards, looking at the victims. His eyes met hers, although he didn't smile, still retaining that frozen, impenetrable expression. She felt a sinking feeling inside her chest and turned to go out into the cold of the Utah afternoon.

* * *

Peace Fields Nursing Home was not as statuesque a building as the one that had been the last home to Alberto Costas. It was older, all on one level, apart from a small annex, and the furnishings looked clean but used. Its atmosphere, however, was no different. The staff were smiling and friendly, and as Emily saw one care assistant encouraging an elderly woman to type an email to a relative, she couldn't help but smile.

"I'm Steve Smith, the manager-on-duty," a tall man wearing a white, plastic apron, appeared at the reception after being fetched by a girl who didn't look much more than eighteen. "Lucy said you were from the FBI. It's about Gerald Morris, isn't it?" His voice was hushed and his eyes concerned. "We've an office just round here. That might be a better place to talk."

They followed him around the desk, passing Lucy on the way, who gave them a scared smile. The office was small and untidy, piles of paper on the floor that looked like they were waiting for someone to file them, but no one had had the time yet.

"I'm sorry about the mess," Steve said. "Both myself and the other two managers should be sorting this out, but we've been short-staffed because of sickness at the moment, so we're playing a more hands-on role." He looked down at the apron and a tinge of embarrassment crossed his cheeks.

"What can you remember about the weeks leading up to the attack on Gerald Morris?" Morgan said, cutting to the point rather abruptly. "Is there anything now that you remember that seems unusual?"

Steve looked at them blankly, clearly unsure of what to say.

Emily put her hands onto the table that was between them. Keeping your hands hidden could often make some people nervous, so she would sometimes consciously make the effort to make sure her interviewee could see them. "When something happens, like the attack on Gerald Morris, things can pale into insignificance, and its only months later that you may remember something that now seems unusual. Did Mr Morris report someone watching him, or receiving strange correspondence? Maybe he began to remember things from his past that you hadn't heard about before?"

She followed Steve's eyes up to the top shelf over the side of the desk where a number of files were stacked. He stood up and pulled one out of the pile, the only one that had no name on it. "There were a few things that were _different_, but as none of them jumped out and slapped me in the face, I didn't really notice them. I still don't think they'll be important to you." He sat back down, opening the file. "In the eight weeks before Gerald's attack he received more post than usual. We record what mail comes in as we've had a case in the past where a relative has tried to claim that our resident is mentally incompetent – long story where we needed to provide evidence, so now we log what comes in. We didn't ask Gerald what the mail was, but when we cleaned out his room after he'd died, I found this. We'd already sent all of his belongings to his daughter, and I guess we never got around to sending this." He handed Emily a postcard. She glanced at it, noting the picture on the front: Vermilion Cliffs National Monument.

Steve sighed. "This is important, isn't it?" He looked defeated. "Maybe we should have done more. One of the girls who worked here then said Gerald kept complaining about someone leaving his window open. We thought he was just getting forgetful as he often opened his window and would stick his head outside for a smoke. Then he began losing things, usually his inhaler for his asthma. We went through seven new ones in six weeks."

"Did he ever talk about his past? Reminisce about where used to work?" Morgan said, his tone less abrasive.

"No," Steve shook his head. "A lot of our residents do but he was more interested in talking about politics and current affairs. He was a very intelligent man, but his arthritis had left him almost crippled and it was his suggestion that he move here, rather than get home help, or stay with his daughter. He was a real nice guy, and I still miss him." Steve averted his eyes again, not wanting them to see the emotion in them. Emily glances around the shelves, a file for each of the people currently residing at Peace Fields.

And then she saw it.

It was a blue folder, damaged by the sun as its spine faced the window. In handwriting that Reid would describe as 'quirky' was a familiar name. Hotchner. James Hotchner.

Emily stood up, knowing that they had probably got all they would out of Steve Smith, and wanting to get Morgan out of that room before he noticed the file too. "Here's my card," she said, finding the last one in her inside jacket pocket. "If you think of anything else, then don't hesitate to call." She smiled at him, Morgan offering him his hand.

"Let's hope we find out more about Gerald Morris' past from his daughter," Morgan said as they stepped outside, having signed out. "Because this mystery just seems to be getting thicker than fog."

Emily nodded, unlocking the car. There were other mysteries as well, ones she wasn't sure she'd be able to solve.

* * *

_May 1979_

_Willow Springs_

_Tooele County, Utah_

_The school room was dusty and warm, his desk in the direct light of the almost midday sun. Rachael Ribbons was sat behind him, occasionally flicking bits of paper at his back, sometimes bits of paper that she'd chewed. He found her a disgusting creature; unwashed and messy, sullen with a streak of nastiness in her. She reminded him of himself when he had lived with mom._

_The teacher asked a question, a spelling one, and his hand shot straight up. He was good at spelling, good at handwriting too. _

_She chose someone else, and he dropped his hand back to his desk, defeated. She never chose him. in fact, she'd even gotten his name wrong, calling him Wesley instead of Lee. He didn't understand how she could make that mistake._

_The bell hollered like an angry bee and Lee watched as trails of children pumped into the yard for recess. He pulled his sandwiches from out of his desk and made his way outside, searching for a tree to sit under so he was out of the way of the sun._

_A football came flying towards him and he dodged, narrowly missing it. "Sorry, kid!" the older boy called._

_Lee nodded, spotting the tree that provided sufficient shade. He walked over to it, his stomach rumbling for the ham sandwiches his nana had made. It always felt like such a treat; having someone else make his lunch for him. He smiled as he sat down, unwrapping the foil and tucking into the thick wedges of homemade bread, with generously sliced pieces of ham in between them. It was delicious._

"_You not going to play with us after you've eaten that?" one of the boys in his class said, pointing rudely at the sandwich._

_Lee shook his head, swallowing before he spoke. "No, it's too hot to run about."_

"_Take your t-shirt off and play in your vest," the boy suggested. "That's what everyone else is doing. Even some of the girls!"_

_Wrinkling his nose in disgust, Lee shook his head. "I'm not taking my shirt off," he said. "It'll get dusty if I put it on the floor." That was only part of the reason. The other part was what lay underneath it, the big black bruise that hadn't gone yet, no matter how much arnica his nana applied._

_When they lined up again for the start of afternoon school, most of the boys in his class were still just wearing their vests, t-shirts screwed up into tight balls in their grubby hands. The teacher looked at him, curiously, as he entered the classroom, as if to say why he hadn't been playing too, like a normal boy._

_Lee looked at her, daring her to ask, but instead she gave an almost imperceptible shake of her head before instructing her students to come get a big drink of water before they began their lessons. He felt disappointed, before feeling a different emotion. One that he didn't have a name for yet._

* * *

_A/N: Please review! And what don't you want to see in season 5? _

_We have had a snow day today – the school where I work was closed, and it's the same for tomorrow! So only one day in, and then at least two days off!_

_Thanks to Kim, Sophie and Fiona for their review; I'm sorry I couldn't reply directly!_


	9. Chapter 9

_Thank you to those who are reviewing this story. I know I say it every chapter, but I do appreciate it, because it is motivation. It is nice seeing the stats go up showing how many people have hit each chapter, but you don't know if they're actually reading it or think it's pants! Thank you to Sophie for your review again, and I'm sorry I couldn't PM you back._

_It's been a trauma today. I skidded on black ice, controlled the vehicle (quite impressively), stuck my hazard lights on, then got rammed from behind by someone who wasn't concentrating. They then sped off, but the lovely driver left me his registration plate as a present. I thought I'd share that._

_Enjoy this chapter – and do let me know what you think._

_Oh – warning for some bad language. And thank you to __**Kavi Leighanna **__for the read through!_

**Humanity**

"Life is full of beauty. Notice it. Notice the bumble bee, the small child, and the smiling faces. Smell the rain, and feel the wind. Live your life to the fullest potential, and fight for your dreams."

- Ashley Smith

**Chapter Nine**

The night stung like lemon juice on a fresh cut, an acidic bite on an already tender spot. A dark sky held up by mountains was scattered with stars, the same ones he had seen before, gazed up at thousands of times on nights like this when he was leaving somewhere, not wanting to see the morning break in a bed that was not his own.

He wasn't ready for the tumult he was feeling; the typhoon of emotion that was clamouring round something indefinable. Pausing, he looked up at the night, its dark hands reaching inside his chest, his friend his enemy now. He'd loved the night. The time when darkness soothed him, taking away the glossy realities of day. Now it promoted an absence; the comfort that it had once brought merely showed him what he lacked.

Derek Morgan stood with his back against the wall of the police department, can of soda in hand. He'd considered buying a candy bar too, but couldn't bring himself to feel the need. Garcia would have been proud. And then concerned.

The crunching sound of metal being crushed rang along the piece of night that hung over him. Morgan tossed the empty soda back into the nearby trash can and stepped back inside the building, not having realised how cold it was until the heat indoors grabbed him. He wandered back through the corridors to their room, nodding at a couple of cops he recognised on the way.

They'd been working on the preliminary profile for nearly four hours, give or take thirty minutes when they'd ordered pizza. It was now ten thirty pm and he was tired. Sleep last night had not come easy, and when it had, his dreams had taunted him. It was the reoccurring stress dream; a dark figure, _running down a Chicago street, the glint of a blade catching on the street lamps' iridescence. He cannot catch up with him, his breath pounds from his lungs, an engine breaking as his legs weaken, and then he's almost there. As he reaches out a hand to apprehend the unknown subject, he turns around. _

_And Morgan sees himself._

He'd talked to Gideon about it, years ago, and as usual, Gideon had turned it back around, making Morgan suggest what he thought it meant. It meant he felt guilty, for never been able to solve everything; he could never do enough.

And that was why easy evening relationships suited him. He never had to maintain anyone else's life, never had to be someone's rock, come home, fix dinner, make small talk. All those things were off his territory. He had his freedom, he chose when to be there, and when not to be, and that way he couldn't let anyone down.

He'd seen it with Hotch, Mr Perfectionist himself. He loved the guy, deeply and almost unconditionally, but he'd seen him screw himself over everything with Haley, and now with Jack. He couldn't do everything, and he beat himself up over it. And Morgan could see himself doing exactly the same thing.

Rossi was debating something with Reid, rather heatedly, when Morgan entered the room. Hotch appeared tired, and the most stressed he had done since he and Prentiss had seemingly got it together in Calverville. "What've I missed?" he said, looking over at JJ, who looked about ready to murder either Rossi or Reid given how tightly she was clutching her pen.

JJ shook her head. "It's a preliminary profile. We can alter it. Or even better, let's sleep on it and discuss it again in the morning when both of you have achieved clarity." Her voice was the loudest he'd heard it in a while.

"You know, Dave, she's right. We can have an early breakfast and resolve it then. You and Reid can carry this on as late as you like, but the rest of us need to get some sleep," Hotch said. Morgan saw him glance over at Emily and he wondered if their sleeping arrangements had changed. Hopefully it would work out for him this time. Maybe one day it'd work out for Morgan too.

Rossi stood up, shaking his head. "I disagree with you, Spencer. There are religious undertones."

Breath caught in his throat as Reid stood also, less than a metre away from Rossi. "The fact that we are in a state with less than twenty percent of the population not part of an established religion, does not mean that our UnSub _has_ to have a religious tone to his killings," Reid voice had grown in pitch; he sounded almost petulant, tired and crotchety. Morgan's frown deepened. Usually, if there was a dispute between two members of the team they were left to it. This might be one of the few times when somebody needed to interfere.

"He's quoting fricking hymns, Reid. How can that _not_ be a religious connotation? Get real..."

"And it stops now!" Hotch stood up, his eyes flashing dangerously. "Dave, you are getting to the point where you are about to say something that _I'm_ going to regret; and Reid, you need to learn when someone is baiting you. We will discuss this in the morning, and by we, I mean myself, Emily and Morgan."

Morgan moved from the doorway as Reid walked out in a rush, almost being winded by a stray elbow. Scenes like this were rare, but they did occur, especially when everyone was tired and exhausted. Burnt out, maybe. Rossi sat back down, tapping a pen against the desk, and staring at it as if it held the answers to the universe.

The atmosphere clotted thickly around them, filling the room with a pregnant thunderstorm. JJ gave them all a look, and left the room clutching her purse and an armful of files. Morgan figured she was going to chase down Reid, and he left her to it.

Emily followed, not looking at anyone, including him. She'd looked pissed off since she'd returned from her trip with Hotch, thinking about it, but whatever she'd been feeling had been brushed aside as they'd gone about their business.

"You want to tell me what's going on, Dave?" Hotch said, his voice back to its usual level of calm quietness. "You've been off since you took that phone call just after the pizzas arrived."

"Detective Winters in back in the Intensive Care Unit," Rossi said. "She's contracted suspected MRSA. It was Jolene calling." His voice was emotionless, but Morgan knew better than to know his tone spoke the truth. For all of his calm exterior and his seen-everything-before attitude, Rossi still felt pain greatly for those he cared about. He just didn't show it.

"It's a short flight back to Rapid City," Hotch said. "Go if you need to."

Rossi shook his head. "Not yet. Not until we've got a handle on this case. And then you need to go to Garrison Pen. And take Emily with you."

"It can wait."

Rossi shook his head. "You need to go within the next couple of days, and you could be there for at least two or three nights. I'll head over to Calverville once you're back. She's not critical, she's not going to die."

"Jolene needs you."

"Jolene's a tough woman. She needed someone to yell at. She knows I'm always at the other end of a phone, and she gets this job." Rossi stood up. "I'd best go apologise to Reid."

"Leave it till the morning," Hotch said, making his way to the door with a nod at Morgan. "You go now, he'll have you in a debate again. In the morning he'll be less..."

"Certain," Morgan ended his sentence. "The best time to argue with Reid is either first thing in the morning or about an hour after lunch. Trust me."

Rossi nodded, giving him a dry smile. "Good night, Derek," he said, following Hotch out of the room.

Morgan sat back down, flicking absently through the notes he'd been jotting down as they'd talked. The profile was outlined as much as it could be at this point; they'd add to it as they learnt more about the victims, and through them, the UnSub.

He listened to the night, the doused lights flickering falsely, a Siren's illuminated song. Cars drove passed, their low murmur the voices of other lives. He heard footsteps outside as someone on a night shift went to their desk.

Salt Lake slept. He'd seen that. It slowed down like some diurnal animal, the darkness sapping its energy as a drunk plunders whisky. Morgan closed his eyes, letting the dim lights and dulled noise soothe his spirit. He'd maybe find half an hour tomorrow to go the lake and watch the water, feel it lapping against his feet.

Running feet echoed down the corridor, followed by the call of someone's name. A woman's voice yelled imperatives and Morgan left his visions of a calm lake on the table, striding to the door.

He saw a man, taller than him, but with less muscle. His face was twisted into a sneer, his arm outstretched, stopping a petite woman from passing him, almost keeping her pinned to the wall.

A female police officer was stood facing the man, her anger and fear clearly escalating the issue. "Karl," she was saying. "You need to let Chloe go. This isn't going to solve anything."

"What the fuck do you know?" Karl said, raising his fist and taking a step forward, during which movement Chloe stepped away. He noticed and grabbed her arm, pulling her in towards him.

"You need to lose your grip, man, or you'll be spending a cold night in the cells," Morgan said, stepping forward. He heard the officer exhale; clearly glad someone else was there with her.

"And what the fuck has it got to do with you? She's my wife, and I'm taking her home," Karl said. "Ain't that right, honey? We'll go home, and make happy."

"Chloe, you need to stay here. We can make sure he doesn't do this again. This is the last time..." the officer said, trying to reach out to the woman.

Chloe looked between her husband and the officer. "But..." She turned her head to look at the man beside her and Morgan saw a red mark on her neck, exposed only because her scarf had fallen out of the way. He felt anger bubble up inside him, the night time's empty air giving him nothing to punch against. "I'm sorry, Julie, but I want to retract my statement."

Karl pulled her closer into his, an aggressively possessive hold. "That's right, baba. It won't happen again, I promise. I'll go out tomorrow and buy you that bracelet you saw in the jeweller's window, and you'll know whenever you look at it that I'm never going to hurt you."

"Until he does it next time, Chloe, and the time after, because we've heard all these things before, haven't we Karl. Twelve reports of domestic violence in the past nine months and she's covered up for you every time," the officer said. Morgan could see her nails digging into the palms of her hands, such was her frustration.

"You keep your fucking nose out, you fucking bitch. If it wasn't for people interfering then we'd be perfectly happy and our evenings wouldn't get spoilt. Come on, Chlo, let's go home, baba," Karl began to pull her down the corridor and Morgan felt the well of frustration overspill.

He reached out an arm and held the man back. "You really going to walk away with him when he's done that to you?" he said, his eyes directing at her neck.

Chloe's hand went up to it automatically, her cheeks flushing. "It's... it's nothing. Just – things just got a bit rough, you know..."

Morgan shook his head. "No, I don't know. I get passion, I get the heat of the moment, what I don't get is why you let him hurt you."

"He doesn't mean it..."

"Yeah, and the sun doesn't shine on a Wednesday."

Karl shook Morgan's hand off and pulled Chloe away roughly, like she was a rag doll, almost landing her on the floor. "Maybe not in your country, black man."

Morgan stood straight and tall, the air around him radiating with an anger he'd never felt before. "You cross my path again, and you're going to be sorry you ever said that," he said, his words a whispered promised.

Karl turned, laughing at Morgan, and walked down the corridor, his arm slung around the woman's shoulders. Morgan followed, keeping a controlled distance. Every sinew in him wanted to take the man down, fixing him to an ending that was as painful as the combined wounds he'd inflicted on the painfully skinny girl beside him, who he probably criticised on a daily basis for gaining an ounce.

"Let them go," he heard the officer behind him. He ignored her, pacing on, out of the reception where no one was on duty.

The night hit him as he walked outside, its cold, desolate beauty halting him as he saw Karl's fist almost hit Chloe's jaw. She dodged just in time, breaking away from his grip. He pushed her into a wall and called her a whore, leaving her sobbing, the sounds of the tears ripping the silence apart.

Morgan stood in the shadows, waiting for Karl's return. He didn't come back.

Approaching slowly, Morgan saw that as she noticed him she tried to control the sobs, wiping away the tears and using trembling fingers to clear running mascara. He pulled her into him, as he had done with other victims, and allayed his own emotions. "Shhhh," he said, keeping his eyes open for the return of Karl. "You want to come back inside and we'll get you fixed up with somewhere to stay?"

She shook her head violently. "I want to go home."

He nodded, understanding. "Will he go back there tonight?"

She broke free from his hold and shrugged. "I don't know. Sometimes he gets drunk and sleeps it off at his brother's house. Or he might come home. He'll be fine after. He won't hurt me again tonight."

Her words ripped something inside him. "What about tomorrow?"

"Who knows?"

"You know, if he continues like this, he'll eventually kill you," Morgan said, briefly wondering what the actual statistics were on this.

"He loves me. He wouldn't be that bad." She pushed her chin out stubbornly.

Morgan shook his head. "If he loved you, he wouldn't do this."

She gave him a smile so watery it could have filled the lake. "He's all I have."

"You have yourself."

Her head shook as tears began to flow again. "You don't understand. I need to go now, in case he comes home. Thank you – I don't even know your name."

"Derek Morgan," he said, leaving the title.

"Then thank you, Derek Morgan. I hope you enjoy Salt Lake."

He watched as she walked away, a faint limp from an old injury spoiling the pride she was trying to show. The night wrapped around him, a plastic cloth suffocating him and he knew he wouldn't be able to sleep. _To sleep perchance to dream_ and at the moment, his dreams were spectres of a battle he would have to fight.

* * *

It was with hesitation that she left her room, pausing before closing the door behind her. She knew Hotch was back, having heard his lock click after he'd entered his room. Not that she'd been stalking him; waiting for his return though – maybe.

Emily Prentiss did not let things drop, not unless she wanted to. She was persistent, usually quietly so, and determined. And that wasn't just when it came to work. Emily had wondered if she'd been a little harsh, matching his cold front with a winter storm of her own; but you could be too understanding, she knew that, she'd been on both sides of that fence. Her heart pounded, thudding anxiously, as she knocked on Hotch's door. Footsteps matched her heartbeat and the door opened.

He looked dishevelled; his tie was half undone and his shirt creased. The cufflinks he favoured were in his left hand, and she realised she'd interrupted him getting undressed. Without looking him in the eye she bustled into his room, heading for the bed. This wasn't work; she didn't need to sit at his desk.

Hotch closed the door behind her and stood between the bed and the exit, as if undecided on whether to sit with her or leave the room. He raised an eyebrow and she felt annoyed at his pretend ignorance.

"When Morgan and I were at Peace Fields I saw a file with a name I recognised in the office. James Hotchner."

He rested his side against the wall, his head touching it. This side to him was a rarity; vulnerability was an emotion he didn't show. It was against everything he'd been taught, that she knew, that she'd worked out. It was a lie that they didn't profile each other. Really it was mandatory. At any point in any case one of them could be in a situation where the others had to predict their behaviour. She'd been in that situation. And to predict someone's behaviour you had to know them.

And she knew Aaron Hotchner. Not completely, but she was getting there.

"He's your uncle, isn't he?"

Hotch nodded, pulling his unknotted tie from around his neck and letting it drop onto the chest of drawers in front of him.

"And I'm assuming by your reaction earlier, that you don't want to see him."

"Emily, this really isn't..."

"Don't _Emily_ me." She remembered telling Rossi the same thing once. She stood up, closing the distance between them. "It was Prentiss before."

She let the silence settle, the dim lamps in the room creating shadows.

"I'm guessing you haven't spoken since your father died."

He looked away from her, his eyes answering.

"Aaron, we all bear our family's crosses, and sometimes they cripple us. Whatever it is that you let eat you up in that moment between consciousness and sleep, you need to address it." The limb she was out on felt a little insecure. This was her boss, and almost more importantly, the man she seriously wanted to have a relationship with.

His fingers went to his shirt buttons and he began to undo them. She looked away. The intimacy seemed inappropriate and she wondered if it was a way to make her back down.

"What do you want me to say, Emily?" he said, his voice cold, but with a tremble she heard as clear as day. "I can resurrect the past for you, if that's what you want."

She stared at him, the strength she'd acquired from her own upbringing wreathing through her veins.

"It's not me who needs to see it," she said. "Whatever part of your history you're trying to bury, you're not doing a very good job when you let it surface like you did earlier."

"I'm sorry for how I spoke to you. It was unnecessary." He couldn't look her in the eye.

"Aaron," she said, stepping closer, close enough to put a hand on his chest, feeling his heat through the white cloth of a vest, and sensed a spark at the touch. "I don't want to be your priest, or your counsellor. But I need – want – to know you better."

"Why?" he said. His face was pained, an underlying lack of self-worth, and she understood a little more through just that word.

Her fingers pressed into his chest, sliding up to his shoulder and the side of his neck. "Because I want to," she said, whispered, fracturing the glass between them.

His hand fell onto her waist, and she let the chemistry carry her closer. There were no fireworks, no explosions, just a fierce fire that sparked when his mouth fell on hers. She held onto the material of his white vest, using it to balance herself as she fought for dominance.

And then she pulled away, taking a step back, leaving him stood there, his lips swollen and reddened from her kiss and her lipstick. Her territory marked.

"Stay," he said, the sound almost guttural.

The ache inside her was consuming, but some things had to be on her terms. "No. Not yet."

"Why not? Is this punishment for before?"

She shook her head. "No." It was a simple answer, but one that left him looking concerned. For all of his propriety and intelligence, he was male and sometimes he wouldn't think with his brain. "Aaron, it's been a shit day for any number of reasons. I don't want make up sex. And that's what it would be."

He nodded. "You're right," he said, quietly, the tension having left. "And you're right about needing to know more."

Emily moved closer again, her fingers entwining in his hair, pulling his face closer to hers. This time the kiss was softer, but no less impatient and her body waivered. This was the danger; the atrocities they saw urged them to find comfort in what they could, to lose themselves. But she knew there was more than that available here.

He sensed her resistance and pulled back. "You should go back to your room. I want nothing more than for you to stay, not just for the obvious reasons, but..."

"I know," she said, her fingers tracing the skin over his shoulders. "We wouldn't sleep." She stepped away, feeling the coldness of the night slip around her. "Whatever's in your past, Aaron, it doesn't have to affect your future. Unless you let it."

"Maybe that's the difference between us and the killers we hunt," he said, folding his arms. She noticed the shape of his biceps and pulled her eyes away, and her thoughts, to something less physical. "That conscious decision to do no harm no matter what has happened. Is it that what makes us human?"

"I don't know," she said. "Maybe it's that we see beauty in other things. Looking externally as well as internally," Emily shrugged, unknowing, uncertain. She paused, a look between them lingering. "I'll see you in the morning."

He followed her to the door, his fingers grazing down her spine as she left, that last lingering touch almost making her want to turn back around into his room.

But she didn't. Instead she locked her own door and sat down on the large bed, the soft white sheets gathering under her legs as she crossed them. She laid her head back against the wall, listening to the sounds of nothing except her own breath. Passion simmered inside her, the animal urges unsatisfied by the outcome of the night, but her heart sang. He'd responded to her, he was letting her in, slowly.

She just had to do the same.

Night time bears a sadness. She holds the secrets of those who cannot tell; she conceals the truth from those who wish to remain ignorant and provides an abyss in which to hide. Night time wraps herself around those who cannot find solace in sleep, saturating their waking dreams with visions of things that will never be. She caresses the skin of those awake, staring at her dress of stars, and waiting for the clarity dawn will bring.

* * *

_This is perhaps the most self-indulgent chapter I've written, and I thoroughly enjoyed it! Hotch may appear a little OOC here, but I'm trying to get to a side we don't see on TV and make him raw._

_And as for them not sleeping together in this chapter, they nearly did! And maybe they should have, but the purpose of dramatic tension, I'm having them hold out a little longer!_

_Please review – you don't even need to be logged in, just click the little green button and let me know what you think._

_Next update in a couple of days._


	10. Chapter 10

_Thank you to everyone who reviewed the last chapter. I usually do my replies before posting, but I've just taken my migraine meds which means I'm going to be out of it for an hour or so, and I really wanted to post this! So I'll be replying very shortly._

_Thank you to Kim, Watchteoftv, Laura and Sophie for their reviews!_

_Thank you to __**Chiroho**__ for the beta and to __**Kavi Leighanna **__for the read through._

**Humanity**

"All of us are guinea pigs in the laboratory of God. Humanity is just a work in progress"

- Tennessee Williams

**Chapter Ten**

The room was crammed full of officers of varying ranks, all looking with interest at the group of FBI agents standing at the front. A couple of them were checking through notes; the youngest had his hands in his pockets and was looking more relaxed than the man who seemed to be in charge.

Officer Ryan White looked at them with cautionary interest. He'd been subject to an investigation with a profile of the UnSub a couple of years ago, and it had been helpful, but it had been a college professor who'd written it. He wondered how much different this one would be, and whether it would help them narrow down the number of haystacks they were looking in. He'd been working as a cop for nearly eleven years and loved his job. And he loved his city and state too. Having someone wander round attacking the elderly was not the kind of thing he wanted to be associated with Utah.

"You think this is going to help?" Officer Adam Wyatt said, standing next to White. "Or is it just something else to slow us down?"

White shrugged. Adam had only been his partner for two years, and he was still a rookie cop. He was a good kid, quick to learn, good at following instructions but could also use his initiative. "Make your own mind up at the end of the case," White said. "And keep that mind as open as you can with all that cotton wool in there."

A quiet chuckle came from Adam. He had a sense of humour, thankfully; otherwise White wasn't sure how long he'd have lasted, working with him. "The girls are pretty ones," Adam said, casting an eye over the two ladies who were standing at the front. "Last time I saw a female feeb she looked more like Attila the Hun than..."

"You any idea what Attila the Hun looked like?" White said, turning towards him.

Adam shrugged. "I know she was pretty gruesome."

"Sometimes I wonder what they teach you in school these days. Attila the Hun was a man, for a start, and if I was you, I'd stop staring or you might find yourself slapped with a sexual harassment suit. Or one of them'll blow your balls off," White warned. Adam had a point though; they were a good looking bunch in general. His wife, who had an interest in pop psychology and would grill him for every possible detail of the profile when he got home, had a thing about David Rossi, even though he was old enough to be her father. The chief, Aaron Hotchner, looked older than he should, his eyes not missing anything, including the brunette who was standing close by. White smiled. He knew he was observant, one of the reasons his bosses had encouraged him to try for promotion on several occasions, but he liked what he did and he didn't like politics. He doubted anyone else in the room would notice the looks that lasted a little too long between the boss and the brunette whose name he hadn't caught.

White rested against the wall as Hotchner looked to be ready to start. He had wondered if it would be Rossi doing the talking, seeing as he had the 'name' that a lot of the officers would recognise, but Rossi was sitting down, watching his colleagues with interest, but seemingly not taking part in whatever they were getting ready for.

The room hushed, a few lasting murmurs being shot down by Barry's glare. The boss was a nice guy, but he didn't think twice about showing you up if you were doing something he didn't like.

"What we are about to go through is a preliminary profile of the person you are looking for in connection with the rapes and murders of five elderly victims. This profile is by no means conclusive, and its preliminary status means we shall be adding more detail to it over the next day or more," Hotchner's voice was calm and steady. There was no sign of nerves at speaking to such a large group of officers who weren't all entirely sold in profiling to begin with, but then White supposed that this team were used to this, probably doing it weekly.

The black fed stepped forward. His manner and stance were that of a beat cop rather than someone who had a fairly high FBI ranking, and White wondered what his background was. "We're looking for a white male between the ages of 25 and 40. He is more likely to be in his mid to late thirties, but we cannot discount someone slightly older or younger than that. The man you are looking for is intelligent and may have had a college education, although the background he is from is more likely to be associated with being working class. He will have had a disrupted childhood, and may have been brought up by one set of his grandparents. He will have been a quiet child, academically bright, but socially awkward, preferring to spend time alone than with his peers, except for a few choice friends who will have also been seen as being 'odd' in some way."

The brunette glanced at her boss before speaking. She was attractive, White had to give Adam that, but she was a little too thin for his taste, although his wife would have been envious of her figure. "As an adult, he will be intelligent enough to conceal any social awkwardness, holding down a regular job that is probably office based. You are not looking for a manual worker. The letters he has written to his victims, their families and George Mulliner show someone who is eloquent and manipulative with words. Our UnSub will be unmarried and he will live alone. He may have made up a story about a previous relationship, but this is unlikely as he will not have the empathy needed to sustain a long-term, or even mid-term, relationship. He possibly uses prostitutes, and if so, his proclivities will be very straight forward, no frills sex." White felt a little awkward at an attractive woman discussing sex in such away, although he could see that several of his colleagues were captivated, including Adam.

"How do they know stuff like that?" Adam whispered, his eyes still on her.

"It's based on other similar cases they've worked and other killers they've studied," White said, noticing Barry's colleague, Detective Burrows, staring at him. "You should ask them. Maybe they could profile what you'd be like in bed, if a woman ever took enough pity on you."

"He will have had a religious upbringing," Hotchner took over. "Which is not unusual for this state. However, it is unlikely he is affiliated with the LDS Church. He perceives himself as having a connection with George Mulliner, who was a member of the New Church of Saints, a small, but passionately followed denomination. We are pursuing a link there. However, these killings are not religiously motivated. We believe that our UnSub has a hit list of victims pertaining to his youth. He is not striking out at random. If this is correct, then we can also tell that our UnSub moved about the state frequently, and also lived on the Utah/Nevada border at some point, as two further attacks that fit the MO have been discovered. The first task for many of you will be to further investigate and interview friends and relatives of his victims, so we can draw up a clear time line of their lives. There is no apparent connection between any of them at present, but somewhere in their pasts they have met the UnSub."

"So this is good, ole' fashioned detective work," White said. "Because unless we get out noses to the ground and find something, the links between the victims will become clearer when we get more of them." Adam nodded, his eyes still mesmerised by the brunette.

The blonde girl was introduced as the media liaison officer by Hotchner, and she stepped forward looking more confident than someone of her age should do. "In cases like this we need to manipulate the media to our own advantage. Some of the heat on the case has been reduced due to a scandal surrounding a celebrity, but that is only going to last for so long. If you are approached by any journalists, please say as little as possible and refer them to myself and I will issue them with a statement. It is possible that the UnSub can be antagonised further by what is reported on television and in the press. At the moment he sees himself as carrying out a mission. If he becomes demonised, his actions and urges may escalate and he may begin killing at random and with greater frequency. We stand more chance of catching him with minimal loss if he does not face another stresser."

"Are there any questions? We realise we haven't yet been able to give you more than the barest of sketches at present. Before we can do that, we need to know everything you can find out about his victims; that's where we'll find out more about him," Hotchner said, looking around the room. White wondered if he was profiling the cops in there, seeing who was likely to be a liability and who would be useful.

"How can you tell us about the killer's sex life?" a cop from Utah County shouted out. White raised an eyebrow at Adam who was still transfixed on the brown haired profiler.

It was Adam's crush who spoke. "We use information we've learnt from other cases and criminals. The fact that our UnSub here is unlikely to have sustained a relationship means that he will have no need for sex emotionally. It will be a solely physical urge that can be satisfied by anonymous partners. Although there is a strong possibility he may have been sexually abused as a child, he associates sex with power. When he rapes his victims he is taking power over them. He will not have any fetishes or ask prostitutes to carry out unusual fantasies. For him, sex is like going food shopping; you do it because you have to."

A few raucous comments were made about various officers wanting to be profiled and one shouted out that he wished his wife would take as much interest in sex as she did in food shopping, which provoked a barrage of abuse for the officer. It was all good natured, done to alleviate the horror of the case they were dealing with. You had to have a sense of humour; else you'd be eaten up by what you saw and heard.

"Do you have any idea of what county he lives in?" Another question few across the room and everyone fell silent, waiting for the answer.

"At present, we don't," Hotchner said. "We use something called geographical profiling, but this is only relevant when the attacks are random. Here we have an UnSub who has a list of people. He is locating the, stalking them over a period of weeks, and then attacking. He could potentially live anywhere in the state. Any more questions?"

"How long before he kills again?"

The tall agent who looked little more than a kid stepped up. He and Rossi hadn't said anything yet, and White wondered why. "The gaps between each attack are becoming shorter, so it's likely that the thrill of each attack isn't lasting as long as the previous one. However, part of the MO is a period of stalking beforehand, where the UnSub sends the victims postcards which we believe to be of Utah's National Parks. Only one of these postcards has survived, as they appear to contain revelations of the victims past that they would rather not remember. It's likely there will be another attack within the next month, if we haven't caught him before then."

"If you have any more questions about the profile then please don't hesitate to ask me or any of my team. We will be briefing you again when we have a clearer picture of why his victims have been targeted," Hotchner said, before turning to the object of Adam's affections and opening a discussion with her.

"So," White said, looking at Adam's still mesmerised features. "You going to go speak to her?"

Adam looked halfway to being horrified. "I don't think that would be a good idea. The profile seemed okay, but it's not what I was expecting."

White shrugged. "It's a preliminary profile. They've only been here a little over a day and they've said that what they need to be able to be able to pinpoint the killer is more information on his victims. Once they have that, they'll give us a better idea of who we're looking for."

"I hope so," Adam stopped leaning on the wall and stretched. "My great-aunt's in a care home ten miles from here, and this case has made me drive passed her place every night for the last four weeks. If I'm not careful, they'll be thinking the UnSub's me and I'll be arrested."

"I think not," White said, shaking his head. "They said the UnSub was smart. That discounts you straight away."

Adam gave him a dramatic glare and walked towards Detective Barry who was now issuing instructions. This was the type of work White enjoyed; speaking to people, asking the right questions and finding out. It was also what he thought he was good at, and with any luck, his input might help to put a bad guy behind bars.

* * *

"Agent Jareau!"

JJ turned around and looked at the woman who had come after her. She was tall, but her years had given her extra weight that no amount of police work was going to shed. Not when you had one of the nicest delicatessens ever next door to your station, which was precisely where JJ was heading right now.

"Can I help you?" It was a moot question. If the woman was seeking her out, then she was going to be of some use somehow, but it was a good opener.

"I'm Angela Thomas. I'm based here in Salt Lake and I worked the two cases here," she was still a little out of breath. "It's about the media – one hack in particular."

JJ's stomach rumbled forebodingly.

"Sorry – I'm stopping you from getting your breakfast. You going to McNab's?" The woman looked apologetic, as if she had almost stopped the country from trading.

JJ put a hand to her stomach and nodded. "Ever since I had my son, I have to eat regularly. I don't know how he did it, but he sure changed my internal clock!"

The woman laughed. "I'll walk there with you. Might get a bacon baguette myself. I'm Officer Thomas, but everyone here calls me Dol – short for Dolores which is my middle name," she held out a hand, a signifier of the time she'd spent in a male dominated workforce. JJ took it, almost instantly liking this woman. "I was like that after having my first. Needed to eat almost as often as he did. My second curbed my enthusiasm for food, and my third drove me to the calories, but that was after she turned sixteen. How old's yours?"

"Ten months," JJ said, feeling a pang of homesickness. She'd spoken to Henry and Will an hour ago, but it hadn't been the same as actually being there. "He's just started to walk." Luckily she'd been there for that, the first time he'd clambered up onto his legs and taken a step towards the cat that had been lying rather obliviously in front of the fire. He hadn't gotten very far; the shock and fear of being on his own two feet had sent him toppling to the ground.

"Nice age. It's all downhill from there," the twinkle in Dol's eyes said otherwise and JJ smiled at the older lady as they left the building through one of the side exits. "Anyways, you deal with the hacks and journalists who come knocking for information. You come across a real smoothie named Savage yet?"

The name hit JJ almost as hard as the bracing cold that had descended on the city. "James Savage? Salt Lake Evening News?"

"That's the one. He's quite a cutie, or would like to think he is. He came to see me a few days ago, just after it became news that you Feds were on your way," Dol said, leading JJ into the deli. "He tried his usual tactics to get me to slip him some information, but he got my usual spiel back, with a few additional references to his manhood. All in jest – at least he thinks. Anyways, he said something that made my ears prick up. Hey, Jessie, can you make us two coffees while we wait for your slow ass to get the bacon on!" she shouted across the shop.

"You watch that mouth of yours, Dol. I swear it's getting more like a sewer in there. I'll make your coffee good and strong – might disinfect a few diseases!" Jessie hollered back, looking not a day younger than seventy. "And what about the girl there? She needed some lunch to take with her to school?"

Dol laughed loudly. "This is a Federal Agent, Jess, so you better hide your good stuff. We'll sit over there. What d'you want for your breakfast, Miss Jareau?"

"I guess a ham and egg baguette, with ketchup," JJ said, thankful that the place had only a few people in it. The breakfast rush had died down now.

They sat in a corner, the coffees arriving almost immediately. "What did Savage say?" JJ said, adding sugar to her coffee. Her curiosity was seriously piqued. She'd said to Rossi that he had information from somewhere, and she doubted it was from Dol Kaye.

Dol raised an eyebrow. "He mentioned the silver rings that were turning up everywhere, and if we'd figured out why yet. I think my expression must have given me away, because I didn't know jack about any silver rings. So if I didn't know about it, how come he did?"

JJ sunk her head into her hand. "Agent Rossi and I wondered yesterday if the UnSub had been in touch with Savage. The questions he was asking showed that he knew more than what's been released to the media. What's Savage been like in the past?"

"Desperate to escape the grime of the Evening News and make his name as a crime reporter. What he doesn't seem to realise is that he'd get further quicker if he didn't irritate the shit out of the cops. We caught him snooping around the bullpen one night, trying to find the files we had on a local thief who was pinching women's panties, so we stuck him in cell number nine." She smiled at the memory. "Anyways, his reporting's generally accurate, he doesn't make stuff up, unlike some in the past, and he never criticises the local PD - Just politicians, and I can live with that."

"So he's basically young and ambitious, but without a clue on how to progress. How easily scared is he?"

Dol laughed. "Stick him in a room with that unit chief of yours and he'll be quaking in his own mess. I think most of the cops in that room would be, come to think of it," she said, surprising JJ.

"Really? Hotch is..."

"Rather scary when you don't know him. I saw the glare he threw one of my lot when they made an inappropriate comment. Anyway, here comes your breakfast – get it eaten before we get interrupted with another crisis!"

* * *

_November 1979_

_Herriman,_

_Salt Lake County, Utah_

_He'd never played with Lego before, and he was sure that Grandfather would disapprove if he saw him. But he wasn't here, he was at home in Willow Springs while Nana made a visit to a friend. Lee wasn't sure if Grandfather approved of Nana having friends, but that didn't seem to stop her. She was the only person he'd ever seen arguing with his Grandfather and that made her a super hero in his eyes. He just wondered why she couldn't argue with him when Grandfather was hurting Lee. Why she pretended she didn't know._

_Still, at the moment he didn't mind, because he was getting to play with Lego. He'd made an airplane, copying it from a set of instructions that used to belong to Mrs Norwood's son. He was called Eric, and Lee had never met Eric. He liked his Lego though. He wondered if Nana would bring him to see Eric one day, and they could play together. Build things. Maybe Eric would even lend Lee the Lego to take home for a week, or even a few days._

_Lee picked up the plane and began to zoom it around the room, imagining himself as some remote controller in charge of everything. He moved the plane a little wildly, pretending it was about to plunge into some enemy's spacecraft and then his arm knocked into something and he felt heat sear through his sweater and onto his skin._

"_Pull his sweater off!" he heard his Nana's friend shout as his tears began to fall as in a storm. The plane was now on the floor, its wings having become fragments of Lego, but all he was really noticing was the pain along his arm. "You go get the first aid kit from the bathroom."_

_He saw his Nana hesitate. "He's got bruises and cuts all over him," Nana said. "He looks like a battered child, but he's just clumsy."_

"_Go, go get the kit!" Elsie pulled off the sweater and Lee screamed at the sting of cold air on burning flesh. "It's not that bad, honey," she said. "Some cream with some bandages on top will help." _

_Her eyes drew along the scars and cuts that were fracturing his torso and he felt acutely embarrassed about them. No one ever saw him without his top on. Apart from Grandfather, and sometimes Nana. But no one else._

"_These aren't all cuts from being clumsy," Elsie said. "You been getting a beating for being in trouble?"_

_He shook his head, looking at the door to see if Nana was near. Did he want to tell Elsie who gave him the cuts and the bruises? If he did, what would happen? And if he didn't, what would happen too? "My Grandfather says he's making a man of me."_

"_Does he now?" Elsie said. "What does your Nana say about that?"_

"_Nothing," Lee said, looking at the floor. "She never says nothing."_

_And neither did Elsie. But she should have._

_---------------------------------------------  
_

_Please review!!!_

_Oh, and there are the Criminal Minds fanfic awards going on at Live Journal. The community is called cmfanficawards and you can nominate your favourite fics and authors from all the sites that do Criminal Minds fanfiction over there._


	11. Chapter 11

_Thank you for the reviews for chapter ten. There were fewer than usual, so I do hope I've not lost any of my readers, and that you're still enjoying the story._

_Thank you to those who did review, and to Laura and Sophie again, and Kim from LJ when she finally catches up to this chapter!!_

_Big thanks to __**Chiroho **__for the beta- you really don't know what you've let yourself in for, you know! And can I point you in the direction of his Hotch/Prentiss stories – they are really very good!_

**Humanity**

"A child understands fear, and the hurt and hate it brings."

- Nadine Gordimer

**Chapter Eleven**

"This would be the best time to go to Garrison."

Hotch looked at Rossi with some trepidation. "And leave you and Reid to cause another murder investigation to begin? Tell me how that's a good thing, Dave?" The noise that had cluttered the bullpen since they had given the profile was beginning to diminish as officers began to focus on their designated tasks.

"Your lack of enthusiasm is not because of Reid and I. A five and a half hour road trip to Garrison Pen gives you and Emily _a lot_ of time to talk. A couple of nights away together is going to do you a world of good," Rossi said, keeping his voice low as Morgan was standing fairly close by, in deep discussion with a female officer who Hotch didn't recognise.

The look he gave Rossi verged on the amused. "This isn't some nice little vacation, Dave. Richard Davey has somehow managed to get himself a good attorney and is making an appeal. We know he did it, but the evidence is circumstantial at best and we need a confession." A five and a half hour road trip with Emily meant they would have to talk; after last night, he knew that was what she expected, although she would never apply any pressure. Going to Garrison also meant he could avoid Peace Fields for a few more days, and it was a chance for it to be just the two of them, in a hotel with no one else on the team.

"So grab Emily, get your things together and head off. The next couple of days here are going to be spent collecting evidence. We can have everything we find communicated to you. When you get back, we may have a suspect list to go through and that's when we will need the team at full strength," Rossi said. "If you head off now, you'll be in Garrison for before five thirty, which will give you time to read through the case file, get Emily up to speed, and have a meal. _Then get an early night_."

Hotch glared. He could do with Rossi staying out of his sex life. "Dave," he said, a warning note in his voice that he knew was going to have absolutely no effect whatsoever. "Whatever is going on between Emily and I, is between Emily and I. No one else. That's not why I'm taking her to Garrison, you know it."

Rossi nodded. "Davey will respond to a female. She has a better chance than any of us of getting a confession out of him." Rossi paused and Hotch waited for the pearls to drop. "Aaron, look, the team know about you and Emily, we've known about it since before you did. We're all happy for you, and we don't care if you only book one hotel room between you from now on, because we know you'll always be professional and it would probably get rid of some of this unresolved sexual freaking tension between you."

He couldn't help it. He smiled, almost laughed, and as he looked up he saw Emily looking over at him, wanting in on the joke. "Nothing like telling it like it is, eh Dave?"

Emily strode over to them, the charcoal grey suit one he hadn't seen before and he noticed how the jacket had been tailored to cut in at her waist, showing off her slender figure. He wasn't surprised a couple of the detectives hadn't been able to take their eyes off her this morning; he was having trouble doing so now. "I just heard Detective Barry telling one of his men about your little profile of him other night," she said, her eyes glinting mischievously. "It seems you impressed him."

Rossi laughed. "Hotch described Barry's wife rather thoroughly..."

"What Detective Barry doesn't know is that I saw his wife when we first got to the station, and overheard a conversation she had with the officer at reception," Hotch said, not wanting Dave to steal the thunder. "Although most of it was profiling, I did have more to go off than a sandwich, which is pretty much all we have now. Are you sure you can hold the fort, Dave?" He felt the question was an inane one, given that Rossi had been profiling since he was in shorts, but the running of a _team_ was something Dave wasn't used to. He didn't want to come back to find that JJ had thrown Rossi's body into Salt Lake, and Reid had been abandoned in some national park somewhere by Morgan.

Rossi glared at him, his mouth still curved in amusement. Hotch wasn't sure if he enjoyed being Rossi's source of mirth, but he figured there were worse reasons. "Hotch – go get yourself packed. Nothing much is likely to happen for at least a couple of days. And we'll keep in touch."

Emily looked at him questioningly, and for half a second Rossi and the rest of the room disappeared. "You need pack your bag. We're heading over to Garrison Pen to interview Richard Davey. I have all the case notes on him ready – you can read it through in the car," he said, keeping his voice emotionless. It was a talent his childhood had taught him, a poker face and a poker voice.

"Sure," she said. "It's probably the best time for us to go," she said. "And this with Davey could take less time than we think."

He wondered if he agreed. For all that he'd said to Rossi, and for all that he felt concerned about how their conversation in the car might go, the thought of spending a couple of days alone with Emily - even if they were on a case – was enough to make his heart beat a little faster than usual. He glanced at Rossi, who gave Hotch his 'nothing-surprises-me-anymore' look.

"I'll go speak with Detective Barry. He was expecting you to head down to Garrison Pen, wasn't he?" Rossi said. Hotch could see Barry out of the corner of his eye, giving very specific instructions to two of his officers.

"He was. There's no problem with it. And I spoke with him this morning and said a lot now depends on the detective work of his men. Emily, I'll meet you outside of the hotel in thirty minutes. Will that give you enough time to get your things together?" he transferred his gaze from Rossi to Emily and now the poker face softened. He saw her response in the slim smile she gave him.

"That's plenty, Hotch," she said. He allowed a hand to pat her shoulder as she turned to leave, fully conscious of the gesture, and of the response he was likely to get from Rossi.

"Don't say anything, Dave," Hotch said, once Emily was out of earshot. "Don't even think anything."

Rossi chuckled as they walked over to where Detective Barry was standing; looking through his notes now that he had dismissed his two officers. "I'm hardly going to disapprove and even if Strauss saw you pat someone on the shoulder like that, she'd have no grounds to have you disciplined."

"She's got plenty of other things she could use for that," Hotch said. Detective Barry noticed them approaching him, and put his notebook in his pocket.

"Is everything okay?" he asked, seeming a little preoccupied.

Hotch nodded. "I just want to let you know that I'm heading off to Garrison for a couple of days with SSA Prentiss. Hopefully, by the time we return we'll have a suspect list. Agent Rossi will be leading the team while I'm away."

Detective Barry stared at him, then rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. "Avoid the Leamington route, even though the directions suggest it will be quicker. There's been major road works and I was stuck there for well over two hours a few weeks ago. Where are you staying?"

"We haven't made any reservations yet," he said, making a mental note to find somewhere before they left. "Can you recommend anywhere?"

"The Radley View," he said. "I stayed there last year and it was comfortable and quiet. Probably what you need, given what you're there to do. Excuse me, agents, I think I need to find some painkillers. This headache doesn't seem to want to go away." He nodded at them, disappearing into his small office where the head of Detective Burrows could be seen bobbing over some paperwork.

"Go pack, Aaron," Rossi said. "Otherwise Emily will be waiting, and you know how little patience she has."

"I'll see you in a couple of days," Hotch said. "Keep me informed, and keep an eye on Morgan. Something's still brewing there, and I'd be interested to know what he was discussing with that female officer earlier." It hadn't slipped by him. Morgan had made a beeline for her as soon as she had arrived , almost pouncing on her desk. Their conversation had been amicable, and Morgan had seemed satisfied at the end of it, but as far as Hotch was concerned, there hadn't been the need for a conversation that personal, given that they had been in the state less than forty-eight hours.

Rossi nodded. "I'll keep my eye on it. It will either be something or nothing, Aaron. I wouldn't worry as it'll probably blow over in a couple of days."

Hotch's worries weren't alleviated, but there was nothing he could do without a crystal ball. Dave could be one hundred percent right, and it really was nothing. Something told Hotch that that wasn't the case. "I'll call you once we hit Garrison," he said. "If anything happens before then, then get in touch."

"Sure," Rossi said. "And while you're there, try having a little fun in the evening. Take her for dinner, pay, and don't put it on expenses."

Hotch smiled, shaking his head in disbelief at the things Rossi would say. "I'll be in touch."

He left the building, the cold weather distilling his senses. He noticed JJ sitting in the delicatessen next door to the station, talking animatedly with one of Barry's officers. The sight of her made him feel a little less concerned about leaving his team. She could handle Rossi, and point Reid in the right direction of reality when it was called for, and she had been known to talk sense into Morgan.

The warmth of the hotel almost took his breath away as he stepped into the lobby. The concierge nodded at him, his face emotionless, a mirror of Hotch's own. He made a resolution there and then, to set aside his poker face while they were away and let her see beyond it.

He just hoped that there was more to see.

* * *

Being tidy was one of the few traits Emily was glad she had inherited from her mother; it made packing a quick and easy job as she could see exactly what clothes and toiletries she had available. There were a few extras added to what she usually brought; a slightly dressier top to wear with jeans and a dress that was usually left for occasions other than dinner with the team. There was also a greater selection of underwear, and a nightdress that had been bought from an internet site months ago and never worn. There had never been an occasion to wear it, as it certainly hadn't been designed for comfort.

Emily shook her head as she packed the black silky thing, wondering if she was tempting fate. However, she definitely would be tempting fate if the only thing she packed were the trusty set of fleecy pyjamas that she usually brought for cold climates, although they were going to be packed anyway. She checked the clock, fifteen of the thirty minutes had gone, and although she knew that Hotch wasn't expecting her to stick to the clock – she'd like to be ready promptly.

A knock sounded at the door, a familiar rhythm that upped the adrenaline levels in her veins. She placed the shoes in her case that she had in her hands and went to answer it. Hotch stood there, empty handed, and Emily figured that he had only just returned from the station.

"May I come in?" he said, his eyes focused on her instead of scanning the back of the room as was his habit.

"Sure," she stepped out of the way so he could enter.

He headed for the window, looking down onto the street below. "Are you okay with going to Garrison?" he said without looking at her this time.

"Why wouldn't I be?" she said, puzzled at the question. "I know I wasn't around when Davey was arrested, but I can catch up on the details of his case on the drive down there and it'll be a different sort of exercise than usual."

"You know why both Rossi and I think you're more suited to interview him than me?" he asked, reverting his eyes to her and turning his back on the window, blocking out some of the light. It made him appear darker, almost intimidating.

Emily nodded. "Richard Davey stalked and killed tall, slim brunettes. He'll try to seduce me, just like he did with the women he dated." Davey was not an unusual killer; he had a type, although she was probably a little out of his preferred age range by a half a decade, and he would study his target's every move before seducing her then murdering her on their first date. Attractive and intelligent, he was a player with an inbuilt need for dominance and power. "You're not using me, Hotch. If I was you, I'd choose the person who was likely to have the greatest affect on him too."

"If you're sure," he said, hesitant. There was something else, she could tell, something he wasn't sure how to bring up.

"What else is on your mind?" she said, stepping towards him. "You can either have a five hour or so car journey worrying or you can tell me now." She was surprised at the authoritative tone in her voice, but in her room, standing looking at her like that, Hotch wasn't her boss.

He exhaled deeply before speaking. "You're fine with it just being you and I on this trip?" She could tell he was bracing himself for a negative response although she didn't know why.

She tipped her head to one side and studied him, wondering. "Hotch, I would be happy doing a trip like this with any member of the team, you included. And if you're thinking about the situation between us, then can't we just see what happens?"

He nodded, his head tilted downwards. "I didn't want you to think I was putting you in a position like this on purpose.

"Hotch," she said. They were still on work time so the salutation seemed more appropriate. "I would have hoped you did want to put me in that situation on purpose. But we can keep work and our personal life separate – to a certain degree."

"Okay," he said. "I just wanted some reassurance that you were fine with all this."

"If I wasn't I would have said," she looked at him directly in the eye having moved gradually closer to him during their conversation. "You need to pack. Then we can head off and get there before nightfall."

"I'll be five minutes," he said, starting to move passed her towards the door. "Have you got everything you need?"

"Nearly," she looked around the room assessing what was left there. They would be away three nights at most, more likely to be two, but she was over packing so as not to be short of anything. "I'll see you when you're done. Just knock on the door."

He almost smiled as he left, disappearing out of the door almost silently. She heard his door click open and then continued with her packing.

A couple of nights away alone together did make her pause to think about what was going to happen; after all there was a reason she'd packed more than her usual nightwear. They were both adults, both single and both very like minded. They weren't some fussy pair of teenagers who didn't understand the consequences of their actions, that didn't know that once you'd slept together you couldn't go back to simply holding hands.

But then, it didn't need to be complicated, not at this moment in time, anyway. There was no resistance from the rest of the team, and no reason why Erin Strauss should find out. If their relationship progressed into something more besides meals and dates and maybe a shared bed, then Hotch would have to consider what sort of relationship they were having, and whether it needed to involve her and Jack. But that was still a long way off.

Emily threw a few more toiletries into her case and closed it, zipping it and locking it. Although it was only likely to be her, and maybe Hotch, handling it, she felt better knowing her belongings were secure. Looking around the room, she made sure everything was tidy, nothing left lying around that shouldn't be. She noticed her perfume next to the bed, and sprayed it a couple of times before putting it into her purse. It could do no harm.

* * *

_March 1980_

_Angel's Grove,_

_Tooele County, Utah_

"_I think he just needs some antibiotic cream. The silly boy's been picking at it and it's gotten infected," his nana said to the man behind the counter. He looked around the pharmacy; the wood and glass cabinets were stocked with names of medicines he couldn't read as there were too many letters. Breaking free from his grandmother's grip, he wandered a couple of feet to where there were glass jars full of candy. He loved candy. When it was someone's birthday at school, they would bring candy in for the rest of the class to share. He wasn't meant to have any, but his new teacher, Mrs Mariott, would always sneak some in his desk._

"_Lee!" Nana shouted gesturing for him to come back. She looked cross. He hadn't asked why they had taken two buses to get over to Angel's Grove instead of just using a pharmacy at home, mainly because he could tell that she wasn't happy with him at the moment. Or Grandfather either. Last night she hadn't made Grandfather any dinner, although she had made Lee a bowl of chicken soup, which she'd made him eat in his room. "Let this gentleman look at that cut!"_

_He held his face up to the man, whose name tag said he was called Gerald Morris, GM, like General Motors. Calloused fingers fell upon his face, holding him still as Gerald looked at the cut. It was deep, and Lee hadn't been picking it like Nana had said. If anyone asked him how he did it, he was to say he was running to the quarry and tripped and fell, cutting himself on a sharp stone. She'd kept him away from school for two days, hoping it would heal before anyone had a chance to comment on it, but it looked worse than it had done straight after he'd done it._

"_It's definitely infected," Gerald said. "How did you do this, boy?"_

_Lee gave him the story, saying nothing more. He didn't want people to know how it had happened. That might mean he'd have to go back and live with his mother who had a new boyfriend now. She'd said he was nice, that he wanted to meet Lee, but Lee wasn't so sure. Grandfather might be strict, but his moods were one of three; good, bad and okay, and you knew what would happen in each. It was the good ones Lee disliked the most. When Grandfather was in a good mood, he wanted to do things with him._

"_This doesn't look like a cut from a stone," Gerald said. He looked at Lee, and Lee felt as if he was reading his mind. He turned away roughly. "Are you sure you're telling your Grandmother the right thing? Lying's a sin, you know, child."_

_Nana sighed. "He's often playing near that quarry," she said, a note of frustration in her voice. "He could've fallen on any number of things."_

"_He should really go see a doctor," Gerald said, wiping his hands on his white apron. "I think he may need to take some tablets to help get rid of the infection."_

"_Well, we'll see how the cream goes," Nana said, looking at Lee. "Thank you for your time, Mr Morris."_

_Lee wandered outside while his grandmother paid for the cream. There was a basket of spring flowers outside, full of yellow daffodils and red tulips. It was a complete contrast to the grey sky above, the spring sun not yet having fully grappled power from winter. Lee pulled one of the flowers from the basket, looking at the petals and then the door opened and Gerald came out with Nana._

_Gerald's lips pursed, about to speak, about to reprimand the boy for taking a flower. But he said nothing, an unspoken realisation as he saw the emptiness in the small boy's eyes._

_Lee looked away, his feet beginning to move to follow his grandmother, and the cut near his eye throbbing still. A constant reminder._

* * *

_A/N – I'm going to set the days when I post chapters to Tuesdays, Thursdays and Sundays. _

_Please review! Now would be a good time to delurk!_

_Thank you again to all of the regular reviewers – it is appreciated!!_

_Sarah x_


	12. Chapter 12

_Thank you once again for the reviews, and thanks to Laura and Sophie for theirs!_

_BIG thanks to __**Chiroho**__ for the fantastic job beta-ing. You really are a star. _

_Hope you enjoy._

_Oh, as an aside, I've never mentioned it before, but I always imagined this and Calverville Point taking place during the latter half of season 4._

**Humanity**

"Aeneas carried his aged father on his back from the ruins of Troy and so do we all, whether we like it or not, perhaps even if we have never known them."

- Angela Carter

**Chapter Twelve**

Morello, Nevada was a railroad town that looked as if it had been dropped randomly into the Tecoma Valley, overlooked by Pilot Peak. Desert vegetation was sparsely spread around the arid town; tumbleweed and sagebrush the only greenery for miles, combined with trees that were cared for and kept alive by the residents. The town was only twelve miles from the Utah border, connected by Interstate 80 and Highway 233 to the Great Salt Lake, but it could have been a million miles from nowhere.

It was cold, the desert sun no longer shining. Reid looked round at the quiet street which had an odd familiarity about it. The buildings were mainly flat fronted, painted white, and the roads were compacted sand, no gravel or tar. He'd been to several towns like this during his childhood, to see the odd distant relative, to stop over in on the way back from somewhere, and he liked their simplicity. He also knew that it would have been very difficult for a stranger to simply stop by and attack two elderly women with no one noticing him passing through.

The town's sheriff was standing by the station, his eyes smiling as Rossi pulled up and parked. He looked a kindly man, red cheeked and rather large around the middle; there was something about his face that made Reid feel automatically reassured. He began to analyse where the feeling was coming from, but before he could go into any great depth Rossi was out of the vehicle and introducing them both.

"It's good to see you," the Sheriff said. "Always bothered everyone in this town that we never found out who did it."

"Let's get inside, shall we?" Rossi said. "We can go through some of the details and the case files if you have them ready."

The Sheriff nodded. "They sent a detective in from Reno to help out 'cause we'd never had anything like that happen before, but they left all the files here. Come in – I'll get Estelle to make us some coffee."

Reid followed them inside, still taking in his surroundings. He'd looked at a map of the town on the way there; the houses belonging to Mary Wiles and Sylvia Piercy were a stone's throw from each other, and on the outskirts of town, but if the UnSub was in a car then he would have been noticed by someone.

The station looked as if it hadn't been refurbished since the late 1960's, and Reid found that somehow refreshing. They'd been no attempt made to keep up with trends and fashions; the station showed the town for what it was, and that it was happy being that way. He sat down on an orange and brown striped chair that looked as if someone had brought it in from home.

"Estelle," the sheriff shouted into a small room that adjoined where he had led them. "Can you get us some coffee please?" A murmur came back, and Reid assumed it had been an affirmative answer, given the chorus of cups clanging and the sound of beans grinding.

"Okay, Agent Rossi and... did you say _Dr_. Reid?" The sheriff looked at him, puzzled.

Reid nodded. "I'm not a medical doctor; I just have a couple of doctorates." He nodded and smiled, trying to act like it was an everyday occurrence, and half hoping the sheriff would breeze over it.

"Oh," the sheriff looked at him strangely. "And you're also a profiler with the FBI?"

Reid nodded. "The night when Miss Wiles and Mrs Piercy were attacked – were no strange cars recorded coming into the town?"

The sheriff shook his head. "Not a thing. People notice unusual things here, mainly because not much unusual happens, which is all well and good by most of us – maybe not the kids! We figured that the guy who attacked them ladies must have parked up just off the highway then walked across the ranches. Maybe he did it overnight and then hid out somewhere till the next evening. We don't know, but we saw nothing."

Rossi nodded slowly. Reid noticed that he was crouching low, his elbows resting far back on his thighs so that the sheriff had more height, which would give him more power. It was a technique Reid had sometimes tried to copy when interviewing, but it never seemed to work as well. He figured it was because of his age; a more mature man would be more imposing, while he knew that he could be perceived as being just a kid. "You never suspected anyone from the town?" Rossi said.

It was a powerful question, and some sheriffs and detectives would have balked at answering it; however, the sheriff of Morello simply shook his head. "It would have been strange for there to have been two attacks on one night, none before it and none after."

"What about visitors?" Rossi said. "Someone who was coming to see a friend or relative. They might have been from round here originally. Do you remember anyone like that being around?"

"Two women came over from Salt Lake City to see their sister, but that was it. I did think at the time to ask who was around that day and night who wasn't usually. I think your conclusion will be the same, Agents. The attacker came and hid out somewhere," he said, coffee being brought into the room on a tray by Estelle, whose age and appearance shocked Reid a little.

He'd been picturing an older woman, maybe someone who had worked there for half a century and knew everything the town had ever tried to keep secret; but Estelle was young, younger than Reid, and stunningly beautiful.

"This is my daughter," the sheriff said. "She's studying at the University of Utah, but is home this week as it's a study break." He put an arm around her waist and Reid could see that the sheriff hadn't accepted the fact that his daughter was longer a little girl. Reid also knew that his little girl was pulling the wool over his eyes because this week wasn't a study week. He raised an eyebrow to Estelle and she gave him an assured smile back. She was the type of girl Reid would leave for Morgan. He thought of Katie back in South Dakota, and wondered whether he should go see her, but it was a decision to be made some other time.

Estelle cat-walked back into the little room, her father smiling proudly. "She's my youngest and she's got everything; the looks, the brains... she's got it all. Anyway," he was brought back to earth by a bite of reality, "how else can I help you with these two ladies?"

"How long did they survive after the attack?" Rossi said, still in the same position.

The sheriff shrugged. "Mary died two months later, Sylvia another three months after that. Mary wasn't too bad; she managed to stay in her own home, which was what she wanted, but Sylvia went to Mount View Care Home. She'd been a little strange for a few years, late onset schizophrenia they called it, and what happened to her just sent her over the edge. We couldn't get any sense out of her afterwards."

"What about Mary? Was she able to give you any details?" Reid said, sitting back in the chair in what he hoped was a casual manner.

The sheriff nodded. "Some. She was attacked second, and she said she noticed blood on his clothes. He wore a black mask - we think it was a balaclava – and she said she recognised something about him, but she was never able to place it."

"Did she say anything else about him later?" Rossi said, pushing himself up off his thighs.

"Yes, as a matter of fact, she did. She said he'd mentioned the church and told her that she didn't remember him, but she should. What upset her most was he accused her of never helping him. Mary was one of the sweetest ladies I've ever known. She never had any kids of her own, but she was wonderful with them in that church..." the sheriff seemed to disappear into his memories momentarily.

Reid glanced at Rossi; they were getting somewhere it seemed. "Was anything left in their houses after the attack that hadn't been there before?" Reid said. If it was, then they could really have a break in the case.

The sheriff nodded. "Funny you should ask, because it was one thing we never gave much thought to. Mary found a silver ring left on her mantelpiece when she came out of the hospital. She swore she'd never had such a thing. I thought maybe it had been left by of the crime scene folks Reno had sent."

Reid picked up a cup of coffee and added some cream, sipping it. They hadn't had a drink since before giving the profile and he was parched. "Do you still have the ring?"

"No," the sheriff said. "It was lost somewhere as it wasn't part of the investigation. You think it may have been useful?"

"Silver rings have been left at each of the crime scenes in Utah," Rossi said. "We're not sure what relevance it would have to the UnSub – the attacker – but we believe that the ring is symbolic to him."

The sheriff nodded, then shrugged his shoulders. "I'm sorry we didn't think more of it. But you see, our church here, a silver ring is something we give kids when they're confirmed at the age of nine. Most folk always wear it, even if they don't go to church anymore."

"What denomination is the church here?" Reid said, things starting to piece together in his mind. "There's no name outside."

"We don't want to publicise it. Back in the seventies and early eighties lots of folk would go door to door, trying to get people to come be part of the congregation, but that stopped after what happened in Tooele County over Utah way. People find the church now, rather than it being the other way round," the sheriff said, now twisting the silver ring on the middle finger of his right hand, which looked a little too tight for him.

Reid leaned forward. "The name, of your church..."

"Oh, of course. It's the New Church of Saints."

Reid almost heard the adrenaline begin to clunk through Rossi's veins. The New Church of Saints was the same church George Mulliner had been affiliated with. It was already clear that they would spend the drive back to Salt Lake debating the link to religion.

"Can you tell us a little about your church – its history and such?" Rossi said, picking up his own coffee and adding a more than significant amount of sugar to it.

"Sure," the sheriff said. "But I thought you came here to talk about the attacks." He looked at them with puzzled eyes.

"We think there may be a link. The UnSub is communicating with George Mulliner, who was brought up as a member of the New Church. We are exploring the religion as a possible point in common between the two. We think they may have met through a religious program."

The sheriff now did look perplexed, and when he spoke his tone was defensive. "Our beliefs encourage us to practise peace. I don't see how religion could be responsible for these attacks..."

Reid leaned forward again, closing the distance physically as if to close any possible difference between them. "No, sheriff. We don't think religion is behind this," he glanced at Rossi. "We just think it's possible that the UnSub met Mulliner because of it. Knowing something about your church, especially from twenty years ago, may help us find him."

The sheriff nodded, still wary. "The church was founded fifty-six years ago, and I won't go into detail of our beliefs, because you can look all that up. At one point, members used to visit other towns, either where we already had churches to meet with other folk to socialise, or even to introduce daughters and sons in the hope they'd marry someone of the same thinking. We also used to visit places that were deemed secularised, which as you can imagine, there aren't that many round Utah, with the LDS and all. We'd go knocking on people's doors, a bit like Jehovah's Witnesses do now. The latter stopped after a woman in Tooele County was attacked in front of her grandson. She'd knocked on someone's door and he hit out at her, calling her names and throwing her against the wall. He shattered her jaw bone and after that, we stopped. The visits carried on, and we'd have weekend retreats for the kids, like we still do; only the kids aren't that interested anymore. Even in a town as small as this you can meet anyone at the click of a button."

He stood up, putting his cup down on the table. "I'll get you the case files. If you'd come by three months ago I could have taken you to Mary's place, but it's been sold now, and the folks there aren't too keen on helping out."

Reid glanced at Rossi as the sheriff left the room. "This is still not about religion, Dave," he said quietly, then finished the rest of his coffee.

Rossi shook his head. "I think you'll find, Spencer, that it's everything to do with religion, just not in the way you think."

* * *

After nearly three hours of reading and talking through the file on Richard Davey, Emily was ready for a break. She didn't suffer from motion sickness, and she certainly hadn't eaten anything that could have provoked the need to inhale non-conditioned air.

Hotch put on the directional and pulled off the road into the parking lot of a diner that looked as if it had seen better days. She glanced over at him; since leaving Salt Lake he'd looked less tired, seemed more relaxed. He'd lost his jacket and tie, and rolled up his cuffs; even his eyes had looked brighter. She'd wondered what had caused it; whether it was the release of leaving Rossi in charge, or the change in company. "You want to stop here?" she said. She hadn't mentioned she was feeling unwell, not wanting to draw that kind of attention to herself.

"You look pale," he said, briefly looking at her as he put the car into park. "Don't tell me you're feeling fine, because I know that's not true."

She gave a wry smile and looked out of the window. This was the problem of being with Hotch; he could read you when you didn't want him to. "Okay, I could do with some fresh air, a drink, and a sandwich would be great," she said, opening the door and feeling country air hit her. Her ankle wobbled slightly as she bared weight on it and she found Hotch's hand supporting her lower back.

"Weren't you supposed to pick up a brace to support that ankle?" he said, as she allowed his hand to remain as they moved into the diner.

"The doctor at the hospital suggested it, but I think it will be okay. It's painful after being still for so long," she confessed. His expression was one of concern, the same one she had seen a few times before now. He was worried about her. "It's okay, Hotch. I just need to rest it."

He nodded, directing her to a seat where they could see who was coming and going out of the parking lot. "Leave the rest of the case file until we get to the hotel," he said, sitting down facing her. "Get some rest for the remainder of the trip and we'll order take out to our rooms tonight. It will give you chance to keep your foot elevated."

The thought of not having to go out anywhere sounded luxurious, and Emily realised exactly how exhausted she was. "That sounds good," she said, picking up the laminated menu that was on the table. "Although when we get home I'm going to enjoy making my own dinner for once."

"What will you cook?" he said, quietly as usual, and looking at the menu instead of her.

"Fish pie," she said. "Simple, honest food. I already have the fish in my freezer." Emily looked up at him from behind her menu. "You can come and share it with me, if you like?" She tried to sound nonchalant, but figured it was a little too unbothered to be believable.

"I'd like that," he said, not looking at her.

She put her menu down and focused all of her attention obviously on him. "Good," she said, "because I would too. What are you ordering now?"

Hotch looked out of the window and seemed satisfied with what he saw. "The steak baguette," he said. "The waitress just passed with one and it looked good. You?"

"Cheeseburger and fries. There's a man two tables behind you who has one, and I didn't even need to look at the menu," she said, folding her arms and sitting back. She rested her ankle next to him, hoping he wouldn't mind the close proximity of her. If he did, he said nothing.

A waitress came and took their order, promptly bringing coffee and bottles of water. Emily drank the water within seconds of its arrival, its coldness reviving her somewhat.

Hotch seemed distant. The brown eyes that were staring out of the window were not actually seeing anything, and Emily knew what was occupying his mind. "Tell me about James Hotchner," she said, keeping her voice unemotional. Not because she didn't feel anything, but sometimes it was easier to address things clinically.

"He's my father's brother," Hotch said, still watching the sky.

"Your father died when you were young, didn't he?" she said, recalling a brief conversation, many moons ago.

He nodded. "He died of liver cancer when I was seventeen. That should give you a clue as to how he lived." He was short with his words, and they were acidy bitter.

"He was an alcoholic," she confirmed.

He nodded, sighed and then looked at her. "You could probably profile my background, Emily," he said, sounding almost defeated.

"I could," she agreed. "But I'd rather you told me. This isn't part of the case, Aaron, it's our lunch break. A late one, mind, but it's still a lunch break."

His eyes seemed darker than before, deeper, and she found herself moving the leg that was under the table closer to his.

Their food arrived, and Emily let the silence fall around them as they began to eat. Hotch was half way through his baguette when he wiped his fingers, took a drink of water and stared at her. "My father had a temper," he began. "One of my first memories is of him smashing a plate against the wall. What I didn't realise then was that alcohol fuelled his anger, and he liked alcohol.

"When I was small he would get frustrated with me and my mother, and he'd push her around, call her names, make her cry. When I was eleven – and I was tall for my age – I blocked one of his hits. That made him worse than ever." He took another gulp of water.

"And you became his punching bag," she said, trying to hold her heart together for him. "What about your brother?"

Hotch shook his head. "I kept Sean out of it. I got to know his moods and knew when to make sure Sean was at his friends or in his room. I don't think Sean ever fully realised what was going on."

"Where does your uncle fit into this?" Emily said, knowing he didn't need to say any more.

Hotch sipped at the water this time, a foreign look coming into his eyes. "He knew what my father was doing. He followed him back from a bar one night because he was worried about him driving home. James came in through the back door just as my father had me pinned against a wall. He walked straight out. The next day, I went to his house and asked him to help. I was fifteen by that time and thinking about college. If I left home, which was what I wanted, I knew that Sean or mom would become his next target.

"James told me to go home and deal with it; that it was something most families had to deal with. It was then I realised that my grandfather, Aaron, who I was named for, probably did the same."

Instinctively and without thought, she reached across the table with her hand and held the tips of his fingers with her own. She'd always suspected something of this nature, but had refused to let herself speculate too much on what it was exactly. "You are not your father, or your grandfather, Aaron," she said. "You've done everything you can to not become them, and you've succeeded. Is this why you and Haley took so long to have a child?" It was a personal question, she knew, but in asking it she was probing depths that probably needed to be dived into.

His face was openly vulnerable, and she was glad they were having this conversation in a place that wasn't private; otherwise the intensity of it would have been difficult to bare. "I always found a reason not to. Then one day – we'd been arguing a lot about my work – Haley got upset and said she wasn't getting any younger, that she was running out of time to have a baby. It made me feel like such a selfish bastard. I had no right to deny her the chance to have a child, and Jack arrived." His features softened at the mention of his son's name. "And I would never change anything. He's... everything."

She nodded, understanding. "You're a good dad," she said. "He adores you."

"I'm not there enough," he said. "Whatever my father did that he shouldn't have, he was there for every school event, every game I played in. I can't do that for Jack."

"No, you can't. But, Aaron, you don't have to be there for every little thing. Some kids have their moms or dads with them constantly, but get no attention from them. The time you spend with him is quality time, and as he grows up, he'll understand that," she said, her fingers now entwined with his. He hadn't pulled away as she'd expected.

He looked at the table. "I hope so," he paused, looking up at the passing waitress. "I should finish this. Every time she's walked passed she's stared at my plate and looked worried. I think she thinks I don't like the food."

Emily smiled, losing her locked fingers to allow him to finish. "Aaron," she said, after a few seconds.

"I know what you're going to say, Emily," he looked back out of the window, avoiding her eyes. "You think I should go and see James Hotchner."

She nodded. "It's more than twenty five years since your father died. James isn't getting any younger. Don't you think it's time to lay some skeletons in their graves?"

He remained silent, finishing his food. She pinched a fry from his plate and dipped it into the ketchup he'd squeezed at the side.

"I might have wanted that," he said, his eyes revived from the darkness.

"Just be glad your sandwich wasn't within reach," she wiped her fingers on the napkin. "We should head off." It was time, she knew, to let the conversation drop. Hotch would make his own mind up whether or not he went to Peace Fields to see James.

"I'll get the check," he said, standing up. "Then I'll shift the passenger seat back in the car and find some way of keeping that leg elevated." His concern for her was evident once more; his eyes and words soft and soothing, and for the first time since she could remember, she felt looked after without feeling the need to rebel.

She nodded, using the table to help her stand up. As he stepped away she called his name, causing him to turn round.

"You're not your father," she said simply.

He gave her a nod, and she pulled herself back, resisting walking up to him and letting herself drown in his arms.

* * *

_Now, the chapter I'm working on is not flowing as freely as it usually does. I think I need some inspiration in the form of REVIEWS! I have a free weekend and should be able to get a nice load of writing done (Sorry C!) but the usual muse seems to have taken a vacation, so I'm panicking slightly!!_

_So, in short, press that little green button and drop me a line!!_


	13. Chapter 13

_Thank you to those who have reviewed the last chapter, I'm glad you're enjoying!_

_Thank you to __**Chiroho**__ for the superb beta and assistance with information on events in the '80's – I was just too young to remember!_

**Humanity**

"Whoever wishes to foresee the future must consult the past; for human events ever resemble those of preceding times. This arises from the fact that they are produced by men who ever have been, and ever shall be, animated by the same passions, and thus they necessarily have the same results."

- Niccolo Machiavelli

**Chapter Thirteen**

The team had reassembled by five that afternoon, except for the two who were still on their way to Garrison. Rossi looked around the table, a piece of paper in his hand that had just been handed to him by one of Detective Barry's officers. It was an interesting, but unexpected, delivery.

Reid was occupying himself with a map of the state, marking places where Mulliner's branch of his church had visited, seeing if there was any link with any of the towns the UnSub's victims had lived in. Morgan was looking through the file on Mulliner, although he was as distant from the rest of the team now as he had been two days ago.

"What have you got hold of there?" JJ said, craning her neck to look at Rossi's piece of paper. He turned towards her, giving her the same look he had given small children who were trying to be nosy. "I get it – none of my business."

Rossi chuckled. "No, it's very much your business. All of _your_ business," he upped his volume, drawing Reid and Morgan's attention to him. "Mulliner's received another letter from the UnSub. It's just been faxed through." He noticed that even Morgan's interest looked a little stronger, while Reid looked about ready to tackle him for the sheet of paper. "I'll go copy it, and we'll go through it together."

He stood up and went into the room next door which contained a photocopier, a change of shift taking place so the building seemed busier than usual. A female cop was completing paperwork at a desk, and wore an expression that told of her exasperation with what she was doing.

"Everything okay?" Rossi said, as he figured out how to use the copier. It was one thing he was skilled in; working out how to use different machines. Every place they went to always had a different model or make, and occasionally needed fixing. However, after doing more than his time with the BAU, he could practically repair the machines himself.

The cop looked up. "Yeah, just filling a report about a domestic that happened yesterday. One of your guys witnessed it last night – luckily for me."

"Who was that?" Rossi asked, although deduction told him that it must have been Derek.

"Agent Morgan," she said. "I was on my own, and an easy target. My partner was chucking his guts up in the john with food poisoning at the time. If your guy hadn't come out when he did I could have been spending the night in the emergency room." She let out a sigh.

Rossi raised his eyebrows, knowing he'd find out more later. He'd have thought Morgan would've been in a better mood given that he'd helped someone out, but it seemed that his act had had the opposite effect instead. "I'm glad we could help," he said, picking up the sheets that the copier had just spat out, then moving out of the room.

Reid was discussing the hymn the UnSub kept referencing as Rossi went back into to their meeting room. He passed out the copies of Mulliner's letter, silencing any discussion as the three began to read it through.

"'_Dear George,'" _Reid began to go through the words aloud, as Rossi had expected he would. He had told him once that he heard the patterns better when he read things out loud, that he could pick up on the nuances and word plays. "_'I hope that you are well, and that life is not too boring in prison at the moment.'_ He's taunting him, showing off that he's outside and Mulliner's unable to do the things he'd like to do. '_I've been up to my old tricks again. This time it was Alberto Costas, although he was one you'd never met. He was saint-like, as they all pretended to be, but him more so. I made sure his moon turned red with blood though. Those nice white sheets._' He's referencing the song again, and referring to the amount of blood left on the bed.

'_Do you remember when Reagan was nearly killed back in '81? That wonderment as to whether he'd live or die? I felt the same thing when I had Costas' life under my fingers. Do I let him live? Or do I let him die? In the end, it wasn't a difficult choice to make._

'_We will be in that number, George. Like you sang to me all those years ago. The true saints. And when I see you, as we march in, I'll tell you all about it, and maybe you could imagine being there, so you don't feel as if all of your life has been wasted behind bars. Only three, George? That's nothing. Nothing compared to what I'm going to do.'_ He's trying to provoke him," Reid looked up now. "You know, I remember Emily and I saying that Mulliner seemed to think he knew who it could be, but wasn't exactly sure. I'm convinced now that our UnSub is someone who's met Mulliner through the church when he was younger – the song is almost like the church's anthem."

Rossi nodded, eyeing Reid with slight humour. "I told you religion had something to do with it."

Reid pushed his hair out of the way. "But not in the way you were meaning. Religion might have been the way that our UnSub met his... his inspiration, but it's not the underlying reason for attacks and murders."

"I certainly don't think he's killing in the name of God, but we need to know more about the early doctrine of the church – what the hardcore congregation would believe. He has been influenced by it, otherwise why include the lyrics?" Rossi said, deciding now was not the time to provoke Reid, especially as JJ was glaring at him. He could feel her eyes digging into his face like two daggers: he left Reid alone.

Morgan looked up from the letter for the first time. "He's trying to get Mulliner to confess to more murders," he said. "When he asks _only three_, it's not just a taunt, it's a dare. I also don't think we've got as long a grace period between killings as we thought."

"I agree," Rossi said. "'_Nothing compared to what I'm going to do_.' He has no plan to be caught, and I think he's unaware of our presence, or if he isn't, he's completely unperturbed by it. Where was Mulliner back in '81, Reid?"

"I haven't managed to get that far back yet. I need to go to Mulliner's home town and look in the church records. I'll do that tomorrow. Why do you think he's referenced that date?" Reid said. "It must mean more than just a memory of the assassination on Reagan. Maybe that's the year he met Mulliner."

Rossi nodded. "Possibly. We need to get in touch with the prison and have them reseal the envelope and pass it onto Mulliner as if we've missed picking it up. We need to see his reaction."

"I'll call them," JJ said. "You think he's going to confess to more murders?"

Morgan stood up. "It's been suspected that he killed at least four other women, but no evidence could ever be found to try him. If showing him that letter can get us a confession, then we're onto a winning situation." He looked agitated, which surprised Rossi. The letter from the UnSub was good news; it gave them more to go on, yet Morgan was restless, and almost preoccupied.

"You need to go somewhere, Derek?" Rossi said. It came out a little too pointedly, and he wondered how Morgan was going to react.

He sat back down. "No, sorry, Dave. I just got cramp in my leg."

Rossi moved it on. "So we can determine from this that we need more information on the roots of the church, where Mulliner was in '81, and our UnSub sees himself in competition with, or that he's proving a point to Mulliner. Let's get Garcia on the line and see what we can find out. Reid, it's still daylight. Get some details on where Mulliner's church was and make arrangement to head over there tomorrow with one of Barry's officers."

* * *

Emily bit into a spring roll, her eyes widening as she realised she'd misjudged its temperature.

"Here," Hotch passed her a bottle of water, a smile encroaching on the oh-so-serious expression he'd been wearing for the past hour. It was just after nine o'clock, and they'd reached the hotel a couple of hours ago. After changing quickly, the hotel owner, who'd remembered Detective Barry, had provided them with a small room to work and eat in, recommending the only Chinese take-out in Garrison.

The file on Richard Davey was spread out in front of them; crime scene photos half hidden behind autopsy reports. Emily was leaning back against the wall – they'd chosen to sit on the floor and push the small table and chairs out of the way. "Every case we work has the potential to give me nightmares," she said. "Not many do, but I think this might be one."

"You might want to wait until you've met Davey," Hotch said, looking up from the profile he'd written himself at the woman in front of him. "He is the inspiration for horror movies. After the first time I met him I had new locks fitted and a new alarm installed. The thought that there could be more people like him walking the earth was enough to make me want to spend a month's salary securing the place."

He saw a glance of fear in her eyes and kicked her foot gently with his. "Hey, Prentiss, you're with me. You really think anything will happen to you?" It was a sentence he'd designed in his head before he said it, wanting it to convey humour, as well as giving her a hint as to what he was feeling at the moment.

Her mouth toyed with a smile. "I know he can't hurt anyone from where he is right now, and even if he was free, I'm a good shot," she said. "You should remember that, Hotchner, if you think of trying anything." She nudged him back with her foot, eventually resting it against his.

"You haven't developed telepathy yet, Prentiss," he said, teasing her with her surname. "You have no idea what I'm thinking." He was rather glad about that. Since the conversation in the first diner they'd stopped at, they'd switched topics between the Davey case and themselves. Hotch had found a light-heartedness that he'd forgotten lived within him, the disclosure of some of the issues he'd had as a child lifting a black cloud from him that had been lingering too long for him to notice it anymore.

"And is that a good thing, Hotchner?" she said, picking up a piece of prawn toast, the spring roll having been digested. "Should I be concerned?"

He laughed, the sound seeming strange even to him, and reached for the last piece of prawn toast. "We should get back to these files, Emily. I'd underestimated how much information we had."

"And none of this is enough to stop an appeal?" she shook her head, her hair bouncing around her shoulders. "We have to get a confession, because this man should not be allowed to step out of jail ever. The thought he could do this to someone else..." She looked at him with pain in her eyes.

He hugged her ankle between his feet, hoping to offer some form of reassurance. It was different here in Garrison; the rest of the team being two hundred and fifty miles away, the small size of the hotel and the fact that somehow they'd left the pressure behind in Salt Lake. He also knew that by revealing so much about himself, something that he characteristically shied away from, he was needing her reassurance that everything, that he, was alright. "He's not going to. We'll get a confession, or something incriminating enough that his appeal will be thrown out. We've done it before."

The soft sounds of a car passed by the window, and she gave him a worried nod. She was good, he knew, at getting to grips with the task in hand, but her expression and eyes never failed to give away what she was thinking unless she was being deliberately guarded. And he knew she was worried about tomorrow, about the consequences of not getting enough evidence to stop Davey walking.

His phone vibrated in his pocket and he pulled it out to see Rossi's name. "Hi Dave," he said. "Is everything okay?"

Rossi affirmed and told him to put his phone on speaker. He did, moving closer to Emily by shifting some of the piles of paper, so they could hear clearly enough. For the past few days his phone had been acted a little weird; there seemed to be some background noise when it was on speaker. "What do you have?" he said.

Rossi ran through the contents of the UnSub's latest letter to Mulliner; Hotch agreeing with him on what they had worked out so far.

"Anyway," Rossi said. "Reid's been to Mulliner's old church." Rossi heard Reid in the background, itching to tell the story himself. "The kid wants to speak."

"Hi, Emily, how was the trip?" Reid started.

Htch glanced at Emily and raised his eyebrows. She smiled, a simple act that warmed his temperature inside.

"Come on, Reid. We'll tell you about the trip another time," Emily said. "What did you find out?"

"Mulliner was brought up in Stockton, Tooele County, a place not dissimilar from Morello, Nevada where the two women were killed who we believe are our UnSub's first victims," Reid began. he braced himself for the long haul. "I'm going to head out to Stockton tomorrow, but an hour ago I managed to get in touch with the woman who's now the minister there. She was really very nice, and could put her hand immediately on details of visits made by representatives from the church in the early '80's. Everything was documented, as members figured that what they were doing would one day be perceived as being great, almost like the work of the disciples. Anyway, on March 30th, 1981, the day of the assassination attempt on Ronald Reagan, several members of the church were in Willow Springs, also in Tooele as there was a meeting of members of the church. That same day, there was an attack there on an elderly woman. No one was ever charged with it."

"You think Mulliner was involved?" he said. It weighed up. It was a possibility that it was also the day when the UnSub had met Mulliner, or even seen him perform the attack.

"It would fit his age at the time. I'm having Garcia look into it now, so I'll have her send the details over," Reid said. He could hear the excitement in his voice, as if he was just about to complete a jigsaw puzzle.

Emily's foot brushed against his again and he looked over at her. She appeared tired, and they still had to talk over the approach they were going to take with Davey in the morning. "It sounds like you're making good progress over there. With any luck you'll have the UnSub in custody by the time we get back and then we can all get off home."

He heard Rossi laugh. "Somehow I don't think that's going to happen. Like I said before, I think the UnSub's going to step up his game. He's issued Mulliner with a challenge. Tomorrow I'm going to get Penelope to go through any murders with a similar MO to Mulliner's to see if there's a connection that was missed. I suspect our UnSub knows Mulliner committed more homicides than he's been charged with because there's something that the cops have overlooked, something like the rings. We're also expecting another letter to be sent to the family of Alberto Costas. I'll contact you as soon as we hear anything."

"Sure," Hotch said. "Keep us up to date. We'll speak with you tomorrow." He hung up, looking over at Emily. "Let's get through what we need to and then we can get some rest." He didn't comment on his concern for her, knowing that she would probably take it as him not thinking she could look after herself. He knew she could, she had done for at least three and a half decades, but he had the desire to take care of her.

"I need to lead this tomorrow, don't I?" she said, looking at the crime scene photos once more. "He's going to know that we're there to try and corner him into saying something. How shall I start?"

Hotch put together a few of the piles around them. "He's proud of what he's done and he will hate someone else taking credit for it. It's an old trick, but I would begin with asking how he thought the murderer had done it. Was he being targeted since it was three women he was dating. Treat him as a victim and let him think he's building a relationship."

"I don't need to goad him, flirt with or compliment him in any way?" she said, looking at I. "I'm not being pimped out here."

He shook his head firmly. "Absolutely not. We'll take the crime scene photos in to show him. It will let him relive the murders, but we can use his reaction to question him. I want you to lead. But remember, he is going to fixate on you as you fit his type."

"I'm older than his victims," Emily said. "Although if they were still alive, they would only be a couple of years younger than me now, so I suppose he's going to get off on that." She gave him that disgusted look that he'd last seen when she'd been told she would have to flirt with Viper. "I will need a gallon of disinfectant when we get out of there."

"You know, Emily," he said, a surge of exhaustion hitting him. "I don't think we'll break him in one day. I think it'll be the day after tomorrow before we get somewhere. This is going to be tough."

The look she gave him was the one she reserved for when she felt complacent, those almost arrogant eyes. "Hotch, I am tough. The bastard won't break me." She looked about the room. "Let's get this tidied up and then head up to our rooms."

He nodded, standing. There were containers from the take-out scattered around them, although the papers they had been looking through were piled neatly. They began to clear up, and in a couple of minutes were leaving the room to head to the stairs.

"I wouldn't mind a night-cap, but there's no alcohol here," she said as the floorboards creaked under their feet. "So it'll be a glass of water, then a good seven hours."

He held the door open her as they arrived at their floor. "Same here. I don't think I'll have any problem getting to sleep tonight. I think that drive pretty much wore me out."

They stood outside their bedroom doors, and he felt an awkwardness that he hadn't experienced in too many years to count. What he wanted to do was to step in her room with her and take her to bed, finding himself wrapped around her in the morning. The problem was, he knew she wanted the same, and it was becoming harder to find reasons not to.

"Thank you for listening today," he said, referring to the diner and his story about his father. "It actually felt good to talk about it."

She gave him a soft smile, and he saw a little of her awkwardness, a characteristic she reprimanded herself for on occasion. It was one he was finding more and more endearing, seeing sincerity in it that he admired.

"You should go see him, Aaron," she said, placing her hand on his forearm.

He expected to feel resentment at being told what to do, but instead he nodded, knowing that she was right, although he wasn't sure it was a trip he could do right now. It would take him some time to get his head round it. "I will at some point." He paused. "We should go in. We probably look odd standing in the corridor like this."

"I don't think anyone's going to see us. I think we're the only ones on this floor," she said. She reached up to him, kissing him softly on the lips. "I'll see you in the morning," she said.

His hand went to her waist and he guided her into him, feeling her warmth against his. He wanted her in his bed, next to him and he battled to push that desire away, for now. "Goodnight," he said. "Wake me if you want me."

She smiled again, and this time there was a hint of a promise behind the smile in the way her eyes danced. "'Night, Aaron," she said, and went into her room, casting him a last glance as she did so.

He slunk to his own temporary space, a small globe of happiness beginning to bubble inside.

* * *

_October 1980_

_Willow Springs_

_Tooele County, Utah_

_Sometimes, when it was cold outside and he woke early, he would pull the blankets over his head and look at the darkness, the nothingness that was there. He would think about space and rockets and aliens, about finding other planets and landing there. He would wonder what it was like to be blind, and never see anything, to only see darkness and no colour or shape or light. The temporary loss of a sense was interesting and safe under the blankets._

_It was where he chose to go after his grandfather had left his room. Under the blankets where no monsters lurked, just darkness, just nothingness. He needed that nothingness, that lack of stimulation._

_His body was racked with an ache that pounded through every vein and pulsated every sinew. The darkness let him escape the act that had caused it, let him hide from a reality that was too painful to face. Under the blankets the clammy air was soothing. He could neither see nor be seen, and that was all he needed. Nothing else._

_Lee curled into a ball, pulling the pillow down so his head could still rest on it. He hadn't cried this time, and no tears were on their way now. From under the covers he heard the front door slam shut and his grandmother enter. She'd been out with the minister's wife, discussing a trip to another town._

_Would she realise what had just happened? Would she do anything about it? She could take him away from grandfather, so it would be just the two of them and that would be good. She'd taken him away from his mother, so Lee knew she was good at doing that, at rescuing him. But would she this time?_

_He put his thumb in his mouth and closed his eyes. He would be asleep when she came in, a place where nobody could hurt him. And in the morning it would all be better._

Morgan stood and looked up at the apartment. No lights were on and everything seemed still. She was out, somewhere else. He hoped she'd seen sense and gone to her friend's, or a relative's home and left him.

He doubted it.

The scene from the last time he'd seen her had replayed through his head all day, with him wishing he'd done something different, something that would have changed the events that were likely to happen. Reid had given him some statistics earlier, after Morgan had asked him in a veiled way.

They had given him no comfort.

There were no stars out tonight; cloud covered the sky. As he began to walk back to the hotel he heard voices; a couple walking hand in hand, chatting without a care. Morgan stood in the shadows and watched: a voyeur. At that moment, he had no other role and maybe that was the problem.

* * *

_Now hit that little button and review!!_


	14. Chapter 14

_Firstly, I apologise for the hiccup with the last chapter. seemed to have had a bug that changed all my Hotch's to I's and also took away my chapter breaks. Hopefully when I post this it will be fine!_

_Thank you to those who let me know about the above issue, and to those who reviewed, including Diana171, and also thank you to Kim, when she catches up, for all her reviews too!_

_**Chiroho, **__thank you again!_

**Humanity**

"Words are but symbols for the relations of things to one another and to us; nowhere do they touch upon absolute truth."

- Frederick Nietzsche

**Chapter Fourteen**

The stark whiteness of the walls were almost clinical, although the stench of cheap fresh paint made the interview room seem unhealthy. Emily sat on a plastic chair next to Hotch, the file they had brought with them in front of her. She was beginning to get used to prisons – almost. However, it was not the prisoner who currently sat in front of them, but the detective in charge of the case. Robert Delaney had the same expression she had seen on several detectives whose cases faced the outcome they were dreading. His skin was unhealthily pale and wan, his shoulders slumped and his expression tired and hopeless. The weight of the pressure on her shoulders increased, and she wished that she had some of the powers of the superheroes Garcia often compared them to.

"If he gets out," Delaney said. "If he's allowed to walk out of here, within twelve months he'll have killed someone else. We'll get him for that, but I'd rather it didn't cost us another life." The detective sighed and looked at the freshly painted walls rather than at Emily or Hotch. "I'm two years from retirement. I don't want to spend the autumn of my life knowing that there's a killer out there we should have put away."

Hotch nodded slightly, showing empathy. "If his defence attorney is as good as you say he is, then with what evidence you have, I suspect he'll get him off. We need a confession, or for Davey to slip up on a detail. How much time has he been spending with his lawyer?"

"As much as he's been allowed," Delaney said, drumming quietly on the table with his fingers. It was a noise that annoyed Emily, but not one she could ask the detective to stop. "They will have been through all of his previous statements, and I would think Davey's been briefed on what to say to you."

"Does his lawyer know we're here today?" Hotch said.

Delaney shook his head. "The lawyer's in Acapulco for a short break. Both he and Delaney are happy for you to speak without him being there. Apparently they truly believe that Delaney has nothing to hide."

Emily unscrewed part of the pen she was holding, going over the case details in her head. "His over-confidence may be what we use against him," she said. "If we wrong foot him so that he believes we're using him to work out who may be a viable suspect then he could end up giving something away that's incriminating."

"You do whatever you need to, Agents. I just hope you can get something out of him that keeps his ass in jail," Delaney said, standing up, the plastic chair scraping against the flooring. "I'll have the guards bring him in." He left the room with his head down, his eyes watching his feet.

Emily groaned as the door closed. "This sucks," she said, looking at Hotch.

"It does," Hotch said. "But we can do this. We know everything there is to know about the case; we know about Davey's background and we know about his relationship with these women. I think we can break him, just don't expect it to happen quickly."

If it wasn't Hotch she was listening to, she'd put the words down to being purely motivational with no belief from the speaker in them. But this was Hotch, and if he didn't think they could do it, he wouldn't have said so. "Okay," she said, hearing footsteps outside of the room. "Let's hope he's in a talkative mood." The worst thing would be if he was going to say nothing, just sit there and remain silent. It had happened before with suspects, and it was one of the most frustrating parts of what they did. To work out anything, they needed words.

"Agents," Richard Davey said as he came into the room, a guard either side of him. "And Agent Hotchner – it's a pleasure to meet once again. I'm surprised you came. Didn't think you liked being proved wrong."

Hotch stood up, offering Davey his hand to shake. "This is SSA Emily Prentiss, who wasn't with the BAU when we interviewed you at the time of your arrest."

She felt Davey look her up and down with a quick flick of his eyes, his actions subtle. He was tall, sandy haired, and with a handsome bad boy look that had never really appealed to her. The women he had murdered had all been young professionals, girls who didn't take risks and stuck to the rules. Yet they had broken them for him. He smiled, and she could see how easily he would take his next victim, should he get out of there.

Emily offered her hand, standing up just as Hotch had. They had agreed not to treat him as a felon, but as an individual who had graduated from the University of Utah, and had held a senior position in a medium-sized business.

"It's good to meet you, Agent Prentiss, and I have to say, you're a lot more attractive than Agent Gideon was," Davey looked at Hotch, giving him a quick smile. Emily half expected some lewd comment about relationships between colleagues, but it appeared that Davey wasn't inclined to stoop to those levels.

She gave him a fleeting smile that she knew he would see as being false. "Mr Davey," she said, sitting back down. The two men copied the movement. "You are placing an appeal that you look likely to win, which means we still have a killer on the loose. We want to know if you are prepared to help out investigation so we can finally capture the man who murdered the three women who were known to you."

Surprise appeared in his eyes and he inched forward. Emily kept her face expressionless, averting her eyes from his and flicking through the file as if she was looking for something. "But you were so adamant that I fit your profile, Agent Hotchner. What's made you change your mind?"

"You do fit the profile, Richard," Hotch said, his voice quiet and mellow. "But we have no concrete evidence against you, so we have figured that we need to reopen the investigation and look elsewhere."

"A sensible suggestion," Davey said. "And I'll be more than willing to help you find the man who did this. It will help clear my name, as well as protecting anyone else I choose to date in the future."

Emily rested an arm on the table, leaning her head towards Davey. "You think that the murders were a way of hurting you?" she said. They knew Davey was intelligent, and what they were hearing now was a convincing line of defence, a good way of pointing a finger elsewhere.

"Of course," he said. "Whoever did this ruined my life – so far, anyway. They took away the women that I could have had relationships with. I could have been a father by now, had a family of my own. Instead I'm stuck here, imprisoned for a crime I didn't commit." He made eye contact with her as he said the last phrase, looking at the table with an expression of woe for the rest of it.

"Richard, in order to help you, and for you to help us, we're going to take you through each murder. Now, you may find some of this upsetting as we're going to want to show you the crime scene photos and have you remember certain aspects of the events before each attack. Is that something you think you can do?"

All of his attention was now on Emily, his eyes briefly looking down at the file. She could tell he was anxious to see what was in there, and she knew he would be hoping for photographs.

"That's fine, Agent Prentiss. I just hope I can help. I don't want to get out of here and have this happen to another woman I may meet," he said. She nodded, knowing that the same thought was going through both her mind and Hotch's: he was lining up his next defence.

"Okay then. Let's start with Tiffany Marlow. She was 25; born in L.A. and an accountant in UTax Assist. How did you meet?" she cut to the chase, trying to put herself in an alternate universe where he was exactly who he'd said he was: a man whose five girlfriends had been butchered. A victim.

"It was in a bar in Salt Lake City. She looked amazing," Davey held her eyes with his own, telling the truth after a series of lies. "She was on her own as she wanted a drink after a bad day at work, but didn't want to hang out with her colleagues. We got talking and I walked her home."

Emily nodded, her fingers turning up the corner of the brown cover of the file. "Were you aware of the complaints she had filed with the local PD about a stalker?" she said. "These complaints began on the 3rd May, 2000. That was shortly after you began dating."

"Tiff mentioned it to me," Davey said. "She was beautiful, you know. I've always dated gorgeous women, but Tiff took my breath away every time I saw her. She had long dark hair, a deep chestnutty brown, that she wore straight with bangs." If Emily's hair had had nerve endings she would have felt his stare burning it.

She raised her eyebrows at him, unsmiling, but not threatening either. He smiled at her, the expression of a narcissist who expected everyone to be as in love with him as he was. And then she knew that he killed them before they could leave him. "Mr Davey, what exactly did Tiffany say to you about the man she thought was stalking her?"

This time he shrugged. "Not much. It was early days in our relationship, so I guess that she didn't want to seem high maintenance. I think I saw him once, around the back of Tiffany's apartment which was on the ground floor. He was tall with dark hair. I didn't recognise him; otherwise I'd have gone to the station with her to provide information."

"What state was your relationship in before Tiffany was murdered?" she said, seeing if he flinched at the verb.

He didn't.

"We'd been seeing each other for about four months, and I was thinking about ending it. She was a great girl, but I was looking for someone I could settle down with, have a family, you know, and Tiffany was more interested in her career."

Emily ruffled through the papers, pulling out a statement from an Amanda Brookner, a close friend and colleague of Tiffany's. She showed him the paper. "Mr Davey, can you explain why Ms Brookner stated that Tiffany was about to end the relationship, and that it wasn't the other way round?"

Davey nodded, then looked up at Emily. "Amanda didn't like me. You know that she was gay, don't you? Tiff used to say that Amanda was jealous of me, because she thought that I spoilt their friendship. I think she said in that statement what she wanted to believe rather than what was actually happening."

Nodding, Emily wondered if he was going to have a similar answer when questioned about the other four women. Statements from their friends and families had all taken a similar slant toward Davey - manipulative and controlling. Other than his own friends, of which there were few, no one proffered any liking for the man. And Emily could see why, although she could also understand how women would have fallen for him, women who needed a bit of boost and a handsome man to keep them warm for a few nights. He wasn't the type you'd settle down with; too high maintenance. "Can you remember the evening she was murdered?"

"Like it was yesterday. You don't forget something like that, do you? We'd been for a meal together at Bella Plaza; she'd had seafood linguine and I'd had steak. It had been a pleasant evening. I dropped her off at home as I had an early start in the morning, and she didn't like staying at my place– I'm not surprised really, it was a bit of a dump. As I left I noticed that the gate that led to the back of the apartment was open, but I figured it was one of her neighbours. I went home and didn't think much of it, until I received no text from her in the morning. Tiff always texted me as soon as she was awake. I wondered if she was pissed with me, and I ordered some flowers to be delievered to her that evening. A couple of hours later, the police got in touch and told me what had happened."

Emily pulled out the crime scene photographs and spread them in front of Davey. A light shone in his eyes as he saw them, although his expression was painted as grief.

Tiffany Marlow had been raped, her ribs cracked and a hand pressed to her neck. Her assailant had then taken a knife to her stomach and disembowelled her before slashing her thighs and breasts with the blade, leaving her face untouched. The photos were grisly, the stuff slasher flicks were made from, but Davey didn't flinch. "I don't know if you've seen these before, Mr Davey, but we need to know if anything looks out of place. You see, although a lot of damage was done to Tiffany, the house was incredibly tidy. It looked as if a struggle hadn't actually taken place there."

With eager fingers, Davey picked up the photos and began to study them. The police suspected that Davey had tidied up after each kill, making sure that there were no obvious clues to suggest he'd been involved in the attack. He was obsessively tidy anyway, as a couple of the guards in the prison had mentioned. "It all looks much the same as I remember it," he said, passing the pictures casually back to her. "He did a pretty decent job of cleaning up." He paused for a second. "If we're going to do this with each of my girlfriends, it's going to take a long time. How do you propose this is going to help find the killer?"

Emily gave him a slight smile. "I know this is hard, Mr Davey, but we're hoping that something triggers a memory, that you recall something about someone in your past who you think may have wanted to hurt you. We think you're right; this was definitely an attack against you, and not against the women." She left the photos on the table and stood up, the chair legs squeaking against the floor as they had done with Detective Delaney. "We're going to take a short break. I'll have someone bring you some coffee."

Davey shook his head. "Tea, please," he said. "Earl Grey if they have it."

Glancing at Hotch, they left the room in tandem, Davey watching them. As soon as they were outside they watched him from the window as he picked up the photos and began to look at them again and again and again.

"You were right," she said, seeing a look of pleasure cross Davey's face. "This is going to take forever."

She felt Hotch's hand press against the small of her back ever so briefly. "We're going to get there," he said. "He's going to enjoy reliving it so much that he's going to give himself away. You're doing great."

A little bit of pride bubbled inside at the praise from the boss, although she kept the emotion hidden. "Let's get ourselves a drink," she said, nodding to where the machine was. "And see if we can find some Earl Grey."

* * *

He'd been placed directly in the centre, with all the others turned so that they could pay homage to his pristine condition and rarity. His hair was jet black, the nose pierced with a large silver hoop, and a Union Jack t-shirt adorned his chest. His name was Sid, and he'd been difficult to find, but she'd gotten there in the end, with a little help from her cyber friends.

Penelope Garcia smiled at the latest addition to her troll collection before scanning the information that had just appeared in her email. Information on the New Church of Saints was not easy to find, especially information about its infancy. She'd located a professor based somewhere in Detroit who seemed to have a speciality in churches that were begun in the twentieth century. Luckily he'd been online over night and picked up her email. And sent a very, very long reply.

A quick flick of two fingers and Rossi was on the line. "This is your oracle of Quantico speaking. How much would you like to know about the New Church of Saints?" she said, hearing his grumpy mood just through his breathing.

"Key facts, then send me what you've got," Rossi said. She heard him chewing on something. Probably a Hershey bar. She'd noticed he had a predilection for them recently.

"Okay, sir. It was formed back in the 60's with the idea that anyone could become a saint simply by converting others to Christianity and following the idea that ending suffering was ideal. Within a couple of years of conception there were allegations of child abuse. Neighbours of members of the church reported children being beaten for their 'sins' and then praised and rewarded to show that their 'suffering' had ended. These practises were condemned by a small, but powerful sector of the church before the media grabbed hold of it, and it was 'banned'. Then there's more of what you know already with the visits.

"My summary, sir, would be that on the whole, this is your normal, breakaway denomination, but it had a rather dodgy start. I'm working on digging up more details about Mulliner's involvement, but I suspect that Reid will have more joy in that department. How's my god of all things gorgeous?"

She heard a slight choke, and wondered if the Hershey bar had gone down the wrong way. "He's doing well, I hope. Thanks, Garcia. Send anything else that's relevant to my email." He hung up.

Garcia rolled her eyes and looked at Sid. "You know what, if Rossi was ever turned into a troll, he'd be based on a grizzly bear." She closed down the email after forwarding it to Rossi and spun around on the chair, glancing at a search that had already been going on for too long on another screen. Unfortunately nothing was coming up. It was going to be a long day.

* * *

"You requested to meet with me?"

JJ's least favourite personality trait was arrogance, and the journalist in front of her seemed to exude it like a form of poison. She sat down at his desk and gave him her least sincere flirtatious smile.

He grinned back, showing white, perfectly straightened teeth than must have cost his parents a fortune. She'd put money on him having had invisible braces too.

"I suppose, James," she said. "That you requested to meet with me, in an indirect sort of way." She smiled again. She'd eaten hacks like him for breakfast even after doing this job for just two months. He was small fry who thought he was a piranha; the type she toasted and fed to Hotch with butter.

He scratched his leg, looking slightly nervous. "I can't pay you, you know. I would do most things to get a story, but bribing a Feeb isn't one of them."

Her smile was genuine this time. He clearly had a line he wouldn't cross, although it was much further forward than she would like. "I don't want you money, James," she said. "I just want the correspondence you've received from our UnSub."

"What?" he said, opening his eyes wide and gaping. She fought the urge to aim a pen at his tonsils.

JJ laughed, her eyes daggering at him. "Let's just say it was a good job you chose journalism and not acting as your career. I know that you know certain things about the case that you shouldn't, though to be fair, you haven't published them yet."

"I don't know what you're talking about!" He sat up straight in his seat, trying not to bite on his bottom lip. JJ almost felt sorry for him.

"Listen, James," she said, tapping her finger nails on his desk. "If you want to get anywhere as a crime reporter and live your dream, you need to realise that working alongside law enforcement agencies rather than against them is necessary. That's how you find out things. Nobody will speak with you and give you those exclusives if you hide information that can help take a bad guy off the streets. Is that clear enough for you, or do I need to get a warrant?" She watched him squirm and smiled at his discomfort.

A light bulb came on over his head, brightening his eyes. She braced herself for the idea. "Does that mean if I give you the letters he's sent, you'll tell me more about the case?"

JJ almost felt cruel as she prepared to dampen his enthusiasm, or as Emily would have put it, piss on his parade. "No, James, it means I won't bust you for withholding evidence."

"Oh," he looked at her with more fear, and she found herself batting her lashes, enjoying his discomfort. "He's sent me four letters. If I tell you about them, tell you how I got them, will you..."

"Not arrest you, yes," JJ interrupted. "When was the first letter sent?"

He sighed, his expression altering from worried to defeated. "About four weeks ago. I get one every Tuesday. Always mailed from somewhere in Salt Lake City, but never the same place. This week I staked out a mail box, thinking I'd predicted where he was going to post it from, but I was wrong."

"Why haven't you printed any of the details he's given you?" she said, curious. There had to be good reason, otherwise he probably would have sold his soul to get the recognition it would have brought from the big newspapers.

Savage frowned, looking at his feet. JJ noticed he was wearing converse trainers, another sign of his age. "He said he knew a lot about me, which he proved in the details he gave in the letters. He wanted me to drop hints to the cops that I knew stuff, but not tell them. He knew this would happen, didn't he?"

For a second, JJ was caught off balance. They hadn't predicted this about the UnSub, that he had planned for police involvement. It spoke of something more, something almost scarier, because already he was a step ahead. "He's a meticulous killer, James. If he's threatened you, you need to work with us, not against us. What threats has he made?"

"My little sister," he said, looking not much older than a recent college graduate. The sympathy JJ felt this time was genuine. "He wrote things he shouldn't have known. I'll go get the letters."

As he stood up, JJ pulled out her cell. Things had just become a lot more complicated.

* * *

_You know what to do – hit that button and review!_

_Sarah x_


	15. Chapter 15

_Okay, I haven't done my review replies yet, and may end up catching up at the weekend. I'm sorry for this – I really do 'need' your reviews, but I'm swamped with work and housework and all those boring things, and also trying to sort the next chapter out._

_This is probably a pivotal chapter in many ways. I do hope you enjoy and please, please review. Reviews were a lot less than usual for Chapter 14, so I'm even more grateful for those who did take the time to review._

_Thank you to the star that is __**Chiroho**__ for the beta, and if you need a new way to do pay for some shopping, go check out his new ficlet, You're Wearing What?!!_

**Humanity**

"We dance round in a ring and suppose, but the secret sits in the middle and knows."

- Robert Frost

**Chapter Fifteen**

_March 1981_

_Willow Springs_

_Tooele County, Utah_

_It wasn't the most pleasant of days, overcast and grey, the sky full of clouds promising rain later on. The church hall was packed with people, making it feel clammy and sticky, even though the windows were wide open. It smelt too; whiffs of perfume and body odour mingled together to create an essence that was unpleasant overall. People were standing in groups, discussing things that Lee didn't care about. All he wanted to do was play outside and run around, not be stuck in this hall with all these people he didn't know._

_He'd found a corner to lurk in, and he'd crouched down, tucking himself away. Nana had tried to introduce him to a few children she'd deemed appropriate, or ones that wouldn't irritate Grandfather anyway, but Lee wasn't interested. He wanted to be off by himself somewhere, or at least with someone who seemed interesting._

_There was one person who had drawn his interest: a man who didn't look much older than Ken Taylor who was eighteen. He was had fair hair and a funny face and kept standing close to a woman Nana was talking to. He seemed as bored as Lee did, and that made him feel better. Surely if someone who was grown up was bored, then it was normal for Lee to be too._

_A flutter of fresh air entered as someone opened the door and Lee felt as if he could breathe for a few seconds. He caught sight of his grandfather talking to someone from another town, his nana stood beside him, smiling as usual. They wouldn't notice if he disappeared outside for a few minutes. Some of the other children were out there, including a couple Nana had tried to get him to play with._

_He moved swiftly out of the doors, nobody batting an eyelid. They found these meetings so important that everyone ignored what the children were doing. Anything could happen to them. At the last meeting one of the other boys had made a girl pull down her panties so he could have a look. The girl hadn't seemed bothered; she'd just demanded the boy do the same. Lee hadn't been interested; he'd gone hunting for centipedes instead and had found a really fat long one with lots of legs. He'd let it live, it was too strong to torment and Lee had figured that it would probably do something with those pincer things._

_The trees outside were just getting their leaves and he wandered to the one furthest away, not because it was the furthest, but because from there he could see everyone. He sat down on the ground even though it was fairly damp and scrunched up dead leaves from last autumn with his hand. A boy came walking over dressed in short pants and a shirt, his Sunday best, even though it was a Monday and not a Sunday. The group didn't like meeting on a Sunday, they said it was important to have it as a day of rest, so instead people had taken time off work and pulled the kids out of school. Lee didn't mind. School was boring at the moment, too easy._

"_Who are you?" the boy said, standing and blocking Lee's view of the girl who was just about to fall over. "You look bored. Do you want to play?"_

_Lee shook his head, trying to crane his head around the boy and see what was happening. It looked like she hadn't fallen after all. "I'm fine," he said, not asking any questions because he really didn't want to talk to this boy in short pants._

"_You want to go and explore? My dad said there was a quarry round here!" _

_Lee looked at him scornfully. The quarry was his and no one else's, and besides, there was no way this boy would ever find it. Then he caught sight of the man who'd been with his mother inside the hall; he looked as if he was trying to disappear without anyone seeing him, Lee could recognise the expression on his face as it was one he sometimes wore himself._

"_I know," he said, looking at the boy with a touch of maliciousness. _

"_What?" the boy said eagerly, looking thrilled that Lee finally seemed interested in him._

_Lee nodded to where the man was, sneaking through the trees towards the town. "Let's follow him. He looks like he's up to something. He might be a murderer - we could be detectives!" He suddenly felt elated at the idea, that they could see something exciting, something that would give him something to think about._

_The boy looked a little worried at first, but followed Lee as he started walking, keeping hidden which was what he was so good at; staying out of the way so no one noticed him. Lee felt a sudden rush of power as he shushed the boy, gesturing for him to be quieter as his feet trampled on twigs that broke and cracked._

_It was less than a mile to the man's destination, and Lee figured out quickly that he was going to see Maureen Morris. The man turned down a path that only led to her house, and was covered with enough shrubbery for Lee and the boy to remain perfectly hidden. He wondered what the man wanted with Maureen. She was a member of their church, and was usually at meetings, but had stayed away today for some reason._

_He beckoned for the boy to crouch down behind the small wall as the man knocked on Maureen's door. When she opened, Lee saw that she had a strange expression on her face, one he hadn't seen before._

"_Why aren't you at the meeting?" Lee heard the man say. "I was looking forward to seeing you." His voice sounded funny, as if he hadn't been looking forward to it at all._

_Maureen took a step backwards and looked scared. She looked nearly Nana's age sometimes, but dressed more like Lee remembered his mother doing. The look of fear on her face gave Lee a rush like he'd never felt before and he felt like shouting out to the man, encouraging him to keep doing whatever it was that was making her so scared._

_Maureen was forced back into the house and the man slammed the door shut. Lee looked at the boy, who was now looking rather worried, and pointed for him to leave their hiding place and walk up the path, so they could look through the window._

_At first, the boy shook his head, so Lee gave him his best withering look, and moved up there himself. He was desperate to see what the man was going to do, to find out what Maureen had looked so scared about. She'd reminded him of his mother, right before one of her boyfriends had hit her. _

_Peering through the window he saw Maureen, pinned up against the wall, the man's large hand around her neck. He could see her eyes becoming red and then she went limp like a doll. She dropped straight to the floor when he let go._

_He was still fixated on Maureen's body when the door opened and the man came out. "Did you enjoy that show?" he said. "Say anything, and you'll be the star of the next one."_

_Lee felt the boy quiver beside him, only realising then that he'd actually left their hide out. "We won't say anything, sir," the boy said._

_Lee said nothing, he was too busy feeling alive for the first time in his life._

* * *

The snow that was falling was soft and slow, so he'd stood in the doorway of the office block next to their hotel. It had been a long day for the remainder of the team, and for David Rossi. He crunched a mint, giving his cell phone a second glance. He'd gone outside to speak with Jolene, wanting to talk with her while looking up at the sky they shared. Her sister was much the same, and was expected to make a slow recovery, if all went well. As soon as Hotch and Prentiss were back he would fly over to Calverville for a night so he could provide some support to the woman he was becoming more fond of even though he hadn't seen her for a couple of days, or however long it had been.

The letter from the UnSub to the family of Alberto Costas had finally arrived, the granddaughter calling him that afternoon. She'd come to the station with it, wondering if she could be of help in clarifying anything that the UnSub had written. He'd said a lot; criticising Mariah James' lack of interest in her father, and stating that she shouldn't feel any pain, as she didn't care if Alberto was alive or not. It was a cruel letter, its intent to cause pain. Amelia seemed clinical about the whole thing, something that worried Rossi, and he had a local officer assigned to stay with them, to help with the fall out.

Secrets had been hinted at in the letter, secrets and saints. Reid had spent two hours poring over it after he'd returned from Mulliner's old church, once his enthusiasm at finding out the venues of the church's meetings for over a decade had been reduced to a gentle simmer. He was still at it, preferring to return to the station after they had eaten and continue looking over maps.

Rossi felt his cell vibrate and he pulled it back out his pocket, knowing that he should head back up to his room and look over some galley proofs from his editor before calling it a night. The message was from Jolene: _Thanks for the chat. Will speak tomorrow x_. He'd give it some thought before responding, choosing his words carefully.

He took a couple of paces and then stopped as a familiar figure approached him. "Derek?" he said, surprise in his voice. He'd said he was calling it a night, wanting some rest before an early start. Rossi had appreciated that; they were all shattered given the past few weeks where they'd had barely three nights at home.

Morgan continued to walk quickly, his face partially covered by a thick coat. If it was Morgan, and Rossi wasn't a hundred percent sure, then he didn't want to be seen. He watched as the figure disappeared around the corner, a sense of a storm about to hit dwelling within him. He'd known for the past couple of days that all was not well with Derek, but he hadn't asked, as he knew it wouldn't be appreciated.

Now he was certain that they had a problem. Morgan acting out on his own was not unusual; he was prone to the heroics, but Morgan looking unhappy and preoccupied and up to something in a city he didn't know foretold of something going badly wrong.

Rossi walked back into the hotel, a gust of warm air drying out his throat. He pushed aside thoughts of Morgan and decided to call Jolene instead. Forget the galley proofs. They could wait.

* * *

She shimmered. It was the only word he could think of for a few seconds.

Emily was standing in the doorway to her room, her eyes questioning. "Is this okay for where we're going, do you think?" she said, her fingers holding the hem of the skirt that fell a couple of inches above her knee. He'd noticed the length when he'd managed to drag his eyes away from the rest of her, including the neckline, which, as Garcia would put it, plunged. "Aaron!" she said, raising her voice, and he realised he'd been caught staring.

"I don't care if it's okay for where we're going," he said, closing her door for her as she stepped away. "It looks great." It was more than great, but he'd never been one to be anything more than understated.

His arm found its way around the back of her waist for a mixture of reasons; territorial, protection, closeness and pride. She walked confidently, despite past conversations about her insecurities. They never showed; the diplomatic skills inherited from her mother.

"I would feel guilty about not looking over the Davey files again," she said as they reached the doors to outside. "But today has sucked, so I'm going to enjoy having a couple of hours where I don't have to think about murdered women and a killer being on the loose."

Hotch opened the door for her, something he wouldn't normally do if they were working, but there had to be a line somewhere for them, that separated their job from their personal life. Although he knew the two would blur quite a lot, they had to be able to enjoy each other's company without feeling their time together should always revolve around work. "It hasn't sucked completely," he said, noticing her legs as she climbed into the suburban. "We've got him in a corner."

"It's just taken all day to do that," she said, as he climbed into the driver's seat. The restaurant they were going to was only a couple of miles away, but their hotel owner had informed them that the cab service was unreliable, and it was too far to walk on a night that was already cold. "I really, really hope he gives way tomorrow."

He smiled at her exasperation. "Hewill, Emily," he said. "He believes we're looking for someone else, now we just have to turn it on him. One slip and the dam will burst."

He let the journey pass with conversation about Davey, trying to soothe Emily's frustration that they hadn't got a confession in a day. "Is this a date, Hotch?" she said, as they pulled up outside the small Italian place. He'd made a reservation there at lunchtime, slipping away from her to make a phone call. When they'd reached the hotel at six-thirty, he'd broken the news to her that they weren't grabbing another take-out.

She'd looked almost flustered when she'd heard, and for a moment he'd wondered whether he should have asked her first, so he'd apologised for being presumptuous.

"No," she'd said, shaking her head. "It's a nice surprise. How long have I got to get ready?"

It didn't feel like a date, and he wasn't sure how he felt about that. Relieved was probably one description, but he was hoping that there would be some definition between their work selves and private selves. "Do you want it to be a date?" he said, remembering a similar conversation they'd had in Calverville Point.

She laughed, pushing open the door to the restaurant and stepping inside. "Yes," she said. "I suppose I do."

It was fairly busy, although it was a small place. Jazz hummed from the speakers set into a low ceiling, and the walls were hand painted with designs that set them in Rome rather than southern Utah. "Good," he said, as the waiter who greeted them took his name and led them to a table set in a corner.

A candle flickered, its soft flame dancing as though affected the air currents around it. He looked around the room, assessing any potential threats and seating himself with his back to the wall. He knew she was smiling at his caution, having not missed anything.

"We are not going to be attacked in here, tonight, Hotch," she said, leaning towards him across the table. Her voice was low and intimate, and a shudder of nerves went through him as he realised that it was just them, with none of the team there, no one to see them together and make a judgement or speculate. "See that man to my right," she said. He looked to where she meant. "He's brought his mistress here. You can tell by the way he keeps looking out of the window. When we entered and he realised he didn't know us, I saw his shoulder sink as he exhaled with relief."

"She's also too young for him," Hotch said. "And he knows it. He thinks she's only seeing him so she can have a few free meals out. He's right too. When she laughs at his jokes it's insincere." He picked up the menu, catching Emily's eye and they both smiled. It was intimate, sharing a secret, although he knew he'd already shared more with her in the last thirty six hours than he had with anyone else for years. "Tell me something about you," he said. "What secrets do you hold?"

The menu was placed down and he knew she'd chosen her meal, and he knew what she was having. "You know all mine," she said. "You know about the baby and what happened in Italy, and you've seen that terrible photo of me in my Siouxie and the Banshees phase."

He shook his head, putting his own menu down. "I can't know everything, Em." It was the first time he had used the abbreviation of her name and as it slipped out, he wondered if he'd been too familiar.

"Are you ready to order, sir?" the waiter interrupted his inquisition.

Hotch nodded, gesturing to Emily so she could order first.

"The bruschetta and tagliatelle picante," she said. "And a glass of house red."

The waiter nodded. "Sir?"

"The ribs and penne bistecca," he said, catching her smiling. She'd also known what he was eating. "And a water for me." The waiter disappeared. "Don't think you've gotten away with it."

She laughed, a ripple of bells. "What do you want me to tell you? That I've had girlfriends as well as boyfriends when I was younger? That..."

His eyebrows rose automatically and she laughed again, this time with embarrassment. "You can see why my dates don't generally go well, can't you? My mouth opens, and you never know what's going to come out."

He shook his head. "You've nothing to be embarrassed about. I just always assumed that your dates were with other men."

She nodded. "They have been for the past fifteen, sixteen years. I just had a couple of brief relationships when I was at college. Experimenting, I guess, and also an attempt to irritate my mother. I brought a girlfriend home when she had some people over once. She'd been trying to make me take a subject I didn't want to, and it was my way of getting revenge."

"How did she handle it?" He actually didn't mind Elizabeth Prentiss. She was formidable, but she was kind hearted. As well as stubborn. He could imagine that Emily hadn't had an easy adolescence growing up as her daughter.

"Like she does everything. Acted like it was perfectly usual, was very gracious to Anna, and went for my jugular a few days later when there was no one else to see it. My next date I brought home was a biker called Armand who was hairier than Dave," she said, with a wryness that made him smile. "I think my mother preferred Anna – at least she smelled human."

Hotch did laugh now. Her self-depreciating humour had never been lost on him. She would show her insecurities, a self-confessed nerd, but her confidence always glimmered through. "When's the last time you introduced someone to your mother?"

"I like the way you said someone, and not 'a man'," she smiled and shook her head. "That phase is finished. It ended long before I graduated college." She thought for a moment. "The last guy I introduced to my mother was probably about four years ago, and it was a need thing rather a want thing. She was trying to fix me up with someone she thought I'd like so I _borrowed_ someone for the night."

He nodded, the man who was having an affair and his young mistress leaving their table, neither looking very happy. "And that got her off your back?"

"Yes, for a little while. Luckily, she's never really gone down the 'you need to meet someone and have children' route, mainly because she appreciated that I wanted a career, and that it's hard to balance the two, as she found," Emily said, taking a mouthful of the wine that had been delivered.

He sipped at the water. "You've never wanted children?" It should have been an awkward question to ask, but it wasn't.

She shrugged, looking away from him for a second, but when she responded her tone was matter of fact rather than melancholy. "Yes and no. I made the decision not to when I was about thirty two and in a relationship where I could have settled down and had a family. I like kids, but it would have meant giving up the thing I'd fought for. And besides, I didn't feel for him the way I knew I should, so I ended it and moved on. It was a positive decision. I would have been in an unhappy relationship if I'dstayed."

Their appetizers arrived and Hotch saw Emily eyeing the ribs he'd ordered. He eyed her warningly, and she gave him an innocent grin in return. "I think Haley had an affair," he said, after demolishing the first rib. It was the first time he'd ever spoken about his suspicions, although he didn't know if you were ever meant to discuss such things with someone you were hoping for a relationship with, it seemed like the right time.

"What made you think that?" she said, pausing a piece of bruschetta en route to her mouth.

"A few strange phone calls, and Haley acting in an unusual manner. I never confronted her about it," he said, surprised at how little he felt.

She took a bite and chewed thoughtfully. "It didn't bother you?"

"No. I guess I felt almost relieved. When we split, losing Jack was what concerned me. I care for Haley, but no longer in the way I once had. The thought that there might be someone else in her life eased the guilt as it meant that she had someone else to rely on, where she couldn't on me. As far as I'm aware nothing ever came of it," he said, scraping some of the sauce onto the meat.

Emily nodded, using her fork to whip a piece of one of his ribs. Her action lightened what was turning into a deeper conversation than he had predicted. "I hope you don't mind," she said. He felt her leg brush against his and was unsure whether she was providing reassurance or appeasing him for stealing his food. "You think we'll get somewhere with Davey tomorrow?"

The conversation descended into work, analysing Davey's behaviour, and Hotch wondered when the last time was that he had felt this comfortable with anyone apart from Jack. There were no apologies for discussing work, no awkwardness, and no need to feel guarded. He felt almost disappointed when they had finished their meal and the waiter came with the check.

"You know," he said, putting his hand on the small of her back as they left the restaurant. "I haven't had as pleasant an evening for as long as I can't remember." It was an honest statement, one that left him feeling vulnerable.

He felt her arm slip around him, closing any distance between them and the warmth of her body seeped into his. He felt relaxed and comfortable, no doubt because of the privacy they had. No one else they knew was there to see or speculate.

The attraction between them felt thicker than ever, but was now lined with the knowledge that it went deeper that simple desire. It had been a tough day, sitting in an interview room with a murderer who could be freed in a matter of weeks, and the evening they'd just spent had released some of that pressure. But unlike Morgan, Hotch didn't want just a temporary release, he needed more than that.

As they reached the Suburban he stood still instead of unlocking it, Emily turning round and looking at him questioningly. "Thank you," he said. "For this evening."

She nodded. "It's been good, hasn't it?"

He bent down to kiss her as a way of answering, her arms winding around his neck. The night was cold, but he didn't feel it. He just felt her, her life under his hands, the taste of her and the soft scent of her perfume. He broke away first, his mouth leaving hers, but his hands remaining on her body. "We should head back."

They drove back in silence, as if the unspent passion between them had consumed all their words. He nodded at the night time receptionist, who smiled at them benignly, and then followed Emily to their rooms. She stood in between the two doorways, her hands in the pockets of her coat, her expression unsure and her eyes filled with a question he now knew the answer to.

"Stay with me?"

* * *

It wasn't that easy fitting the key into the lock, and Emily didn't think it was due to the red wine she'd drunk. The door finally opened with a creak and Hotch followed her in to the dimly lit room. "This could be awkward," she said, nerves crackling at her insides as much the butterflies were making her tremble.

"This doesn't have to happen," he said, his low, soft voice melting like butter.

She shook her head and took a step towards him, tilting her head and pressing her lips to his. At first, his response was tentative, then it became enough to make her skin tingle with the fire that burned. The kiss deepened and she became aware of his hands pressing on her back, pulling her closer into him. She'd unconsciously loosened his shirt, her hands finding their way to touch his skin, and she began to undo the buttons.

The kiss was paused as she did so, taking off her coat and dropping it onto the chair of the vanity unit. The room was warm, yet her flesh had goose bumps, although she figured they weren't because of the temperature.

She turned around, her back to him as she loosened the tie at the side of the wraparound dress, and then his arms reached around her from behind, his mouth finding her neck, fingers pushing her hair out of the way. He slipped off her dress, leaving her standing in just her underwear, any feeling of exposure lost as his hands wandered across her skin, fingers leaving trails of fire behind as he wrote on her body.

Forcing herself to turn around to rid him of the material that kept him concealed from her, she saw his eyes digest her and didn't shy away. "You like what you see?" she said, unable to resist the comment.

He laughed wryly. "It's better than I ever imagined," he said, a hint of embarrassment at his confession.

She smiled, her fingers tugging at his undershirt hinting at him to pull it off while she worked his belt undone. He took the hint, then moved her nearer the bed, his hands beginning to travel across her body once more, as she memorised every inch of him.

The covers were cool against naked skin, although neither noticed it. The sheets became a landscape carved from a passion that wasn't going to be extinguished in just one night, as bodies met in a dance as old as time.

Afterwards, Emily lay awake, her head on his shoulder, feeling his chest move up and down with his breath. She glimpsed stars from between the crack in the curtains and felt the enormity of what was out there, while she and Hotch lay in a small room, in a small town. She turned her head and looked at him sleeping; his hair was mussed and ruffled and she recalled pulling on it at some point while his mouth had explored. She didn't want to leave this room, or want this night to end.

Her heartbeat raised a little, remembering, and she grazed fingers across his chest. He murmured something unintelligible and she smiled, turning into his body, her legs entwining with his. Feelings of tiredness and exhaustion began to creep over her, and as much as she fought against it, her eyelids closed and she sank into a slumber as peaceful and as content as she had known.

* * *

_Please, please review! It is worrying when reviews drop down as you think you're doing something wrong!_

_Also, I would like to say thank you to whoever nominated me for the Criminal Minds fanfic awards over on LJ! The nominations were..._

_-Best Multichapter: Calverville Point, South Dakota  
-Best Casefic: Calverville Point, South Dakota  
-Best Work-in-Progress: Humanity_

_If you'd like to vote – and I'm not sure when voting opens- it can be found at cmfanficawards. I'll try to post a link to it on my profile._


	16. Chapter 16

_A quick author's note as I want to get this posted. Thank you for the reviews; and thank you to those who reviewed whom I could not send a reply to! Keep it up!!_

_Thank you to my beta __**Chiroho**__, who has also been nominated in the CM fanfic awards (in different categories to me so I could happily vote for him :))_

**Humanity**

"Sadness flies on the wings of the morning and out of the heart of darkness comes the light"

- Jean Giraudoux

**Chapter Sixteen**

The sun's light was weak; its rays lacking the strength to warm the streets below the window where Morgan stood, his eyes open but unseeing. It had been a blurred night, one where sleep had evaded him like a fugitive. The street was still quiet, even though morning had been broken long enough for people to be up and about. Broken. That was a word that resonated.

He'd seen Chloe last night; watched from shadows as Karl had slammed the door shut and she had watched him storm away from her from a bedroom window. He'd heard the violent words shouted before he'd left, the threats and names he'd called her. She hadn't shouted back, and that was maybe what had frustrated him the most.

Afterwards, he'd covered miles of the city on foot, walking to the lake and peering into its depths, then trekking the streets seeing the few people who roamed at night, nocturnal. He'd spoken with a few, a homeless man who slept during the day because he felt it was safer, a woman pushing a pram around the block trying to get her baby to sleep, and a couple of people sneaking home after a night out.

It hadn't been therapeutic.

He didn't understand why, but he wasn't tired. As drained as he felt, exhaustion just wouldn't come. His mind raced; thoughts about the case, about Chloe, about Garcia, his friends, Hotch and Prentiss... there was no break in between, and he wondered if he'd reached a point of no return when he was literally too tired to sleep.

Leaving to seek out breakfast, he heard the shower turn on in Reid's room, and was thankful that he'd probably get to eat alone. He didn't want company right now, just a little solitude. His notes were in his hand; a copy of the letter sent to the James', details of the sister of the journalist, James was going to interview her along with JJ that morningand the notes would be something to sink into over breakfast, although his state of mind was now affecting his appetite.

The hotel's dining room was desolate, still too early for many people to have pulled their head from their pillows. Morgan ordered coffee as he sat in a corner, glancing at the self service buffet that he usually would have raided, stocking up on energy for the rest of the morning.

"I can get you some breakfast if you want to read through your file," a familiar voice came from behind the corner of the plant next to Morgan.

Morgan nodded, knowing that he had been caught. "I'm not hungry, Rossi," he said as Rossi slid into the faux leather seats across from him.

There was a nod, then a gesture to the waiter. "Double up on that coffee, would you?" Rossi said, before focusing his attention back on Morgan. He picked up the salt shaker from the table and inspected it. "You know, they'd greatly improve the health of the nation if they didn't put these out in restaurants and cafes. We already have enough salt in food naturally."

Morgan gave a quiet chuckle. "Yet you'll add more salt to your meals than any of us, Rossi."

Rossi raised his eyebrows, giving a half shrug. "True. I think my taste buds are too old to taste much now. It's the only excitement they can understand."

Morgan waited as the coffee arrived, Rossi adding a liberal amount of sugar to his cup. "You saw me last night, didn't you?" he said, glancing up at Rossi and trying to read something from the neutral expression on his face.

Rossi nodded, watching the coffee create a whirlpool as he stirred it. "You seemed to be on a mission to go somewhere."

"I just needed some air, you know, some space."

"Bullshit." The word was murmured rather than said and Morgan felt his stomach churn. Rossi looked up, pushing the sugar wrappers to one side. "You've been out of sorts since we got on the plane to come here. You're distant, unsociable and withdrawn. As far as I'm aware you have no history in this city, so where were you off to in such a hurry last night?"

"I needed the exercise," Morgan said, his hands palm down on the table. "And I don't know what's the matter with me, Rossi. I think I may be burnt out, like we all are."

Rossi shrugged. "I'm not. Reid isn't. And neither are Hotch or Prentiss. We're all tired, but none of us are acting any differently than usual. There's something else." He lifted the cup and drank the coffee in one, even though it was still steaming. They could all drink it hot; sometimes you didn't have time to let it cool. "And it's fine if you don't want to talk about it, Derek, but if that's the case I'd deal with it quickly, otherwise you'll be drawing more attention to yourself." Rossi stood, eyeing him knowingly, and Morgan looked away.

That sun wasn't going to get any brighter.

* * *

His alarm clock woke him for the first time in months and he sat up slowly, reaching for his cell to turn it off. A line of light fell in through the curtains, informing them that the day had just about begun, and it was almost time to leave the pillowed secrecy of night behind, for a few hours at least. He felt the woman next to him stir and mutter something under her breath, her discomfort at being woken clear. A smile crossed his lips, his hand finding its way to smooth her hair across the white pillow case.

"Do we really have to get up?" Emily said, her eyes just about open. He felt a rush of pleasure, and that shard of light filled the room, brightening it.

"Not quite yet," Hotch said, as her arm flailed across his chest as Emily pulled herself closer. He was surprised; he'd expected there to be a certain amount of discomfort, but it wasn't there. Instead he felt at ease, as if this situation – waking up with a colleague – was perfectly normal. "I set the alarm a little early so I had time to check my email."

She removed her arm and sat up, pulling the sheets up as she did so to keep herself covered, or warm, he wasn't sure which. For a moment he wanted to forget about the emails and his job, and keep her warm himself in ways they had practised the night before.

He quelled the urge, pushing back the sheets while still leaving her covered and grabbing the t-shirt that lay on the chair next to the bed. He couldn't let this blur over into his work, so he averted his eyes from her as she lay back down, rolling over into the warm spot he'd vacated.

"Aaron," she said. "Is everything okay?"

He realised he'd made it feel awkward and began to berate himself for doing so. Pulling on trousers, he looked at her, a slight smile playing on her lips. "Everything's fine. I'd rather stay here with you, but I really must..."

She nodded, silencing him. "It's fine," she said. "I'll get ready and go find us some coffee and muffins." She pushed back the covers and stood up, wearing only panties. His breath caught in his throat momentarily as she came towards him, her arms wrapping around his shoulders, her breasts pushing against his chest. She kissed him softly, and he felt the cool skin of her back with his hands. Any thoughts of work had just been removed from his brain, in fact his was pretty sure his brain had just been removed too, and he wasn't convinced this was a bad thing.

"Hotch," she said, still pressing against him. "Go do your work. I need to see what stuff Garcia's copied me into about the case too. This doesn't need to feel awkward – neither of us stepped into this without having thought about its ramifications _a lot_ beforehand."

"You're not helping here, Emily," he just about muttered, unable to move his arms from her, feeling that she was cold. "Maybe you ought to get dressed, for a couple of reasons."

She laughed, her eyes dancing, and stepped back from him. He'd always thought of her as being confident about her appearance, as not having any hang ups, and she hadn't. "The main one being that it is rather cold," she said, pulling an old FBI t-shirt from out of her bag and over her head. Now it was just her legs he had to contend with.

Hotch managed to move his feet towards her and gave her a brief kiss. "Coffee would be good," he said. "I'll be next door working, after I've had a shower."

"Cold?" he heard her say as he reached the door. He turned around. She was standing with her arms folded, looking as if she was trying desperately to keep herself from laughing.

"There are words to describe you, Emily Prentiss," he said, unlocking the door and focusing his mind on whatever email had been sent to him since the previous evening.

There were several, he found, as he came out of the shower, which had only been tepid in temperature. A couple were from Reid; late night musings about the geographical spread of the New Church of Saints and the meetings that had been held in the early '80's. Most of them had been held in Tooele County, the area George Mulliner was from. The link between Mulliner and their UnSub seemed clearer, and it would now be necessary for himself and Emily to pay another visit to his prison.

The letter from the UnSub to the James family had also been scanned in and sent to him. He read through it three times; the first to assess its general content, the second to look for themes within, and the third to look for any linguistic patterns. After the third reading, it was clear from the nuances in language that the letter was from the UnSub, and not someone who had tried to get in there first. A couple of lines caught Hotch's attention. _He saw, but never stopped. How does it feel to have a father who was an abuser?_

Hotch closed down the file, having read enough. He pulled out his cell and called Rossi. It went straight to voicemail, so he left a message asking him to call back as soon as he could. The line told them what they needed to know about the UnSub's background, but it also told them that the UnSub knew he only had so long to complete his mission. He'd be aware that the FBI would be reading his letters and working out why he was targeting seemingly unconnected elderly people. He was going to speed up his game.

Pressing a couple of keys Garcia's voice filled his ear with another of her unusual greetings. He didn't particularly notice them now, only the absence of them when she was particularly busy or disturbed. "Penelope," he said. "I need to you look for names of children who were treated by medical professionals on a regular basis for different things in the late 1970's, early '80's." He was working on the UnSub being mid to late thirties, using professional judgement to rule him out of being any younger. If nothing came up, then he'd have to reconsider.

"Is that for the whole state, sir?" Garcia asked, sounding worried.

"No," Hotch said. "Keep to children whose permanent address was in Tooele County. I know there's not much likely to be found electronically..."

"Oh, you'd be surprised. By the early eighties more hospitals were using computers to keep their records, but I'd suggest that someone would be better going into the main medical centre in Tooele – the William H. Munday centre. That has served most of the smaller villages for five decades," she said. He could hear keys being pressed so quickly it sounded like just one noise.

"I've heard that place mentioned before," Hotch said, thinking out loud. "It was where Janice Allen worked."

"The nurse," Garcia said, sounding suddenly excited. "She worked there for the whole of her career. Didn't Rossi go to interview her?"

"He did," Hotch said. "But she was away. I'll speak with Rossi and have him try again to reach her. Thanks Garcia." He hung up, his thoughts interrupted ten minutes later by Emily bringing him coffee.

* * *

Getting up early had served Morgan in good stead for catching James Savage's sister at home. She was a student; a sophomore at the University of Utah, with a part time job working in a coffee shop where she started at eight each day on the mornings when she didn't have classes. Morgan and JJ had caught her running slightly late, still in the apartment she shared with two roommates, a hairbrush in her hand.

"Melanie Savage?" he said, showing his ID as she opened the door. "I'm SSA Morgan with the FBI and this is Agent Jareau. We need to ask you a few questions."

"Is James okay?" she said, pausing with the hairbrush in mid-air. "He said something weird was going on."

"As far as I know, your brother is fine," Morgan said, stepping into the rather messy lounge area. "He's more concerned about you."

"Me?" she said, looking puzzled. "James has never worried about me in his life. Why would he start now?"

They sat down on the worn sofa that had a pile of books at one end. Morgan saw JJ giving him a quick glance and he nodded for her to continue.

"Melanie, we think a man we are looking for has been sending letters to your brother. One of the reasons James didn't let us know sooner was because the man seemed to know a lot about you, and made threats towards you if James said anything. We need to know if you've noticed anything unusual recently," JJ said, her tone at her most sympathetic.

Melanie shook her head. "No. Everything's been normal. You think this guy is stalking me?" She shuddered, looking frightened.

"He may not have been watching you continuously, but he has seen enough of you to know your routines," Morgan said. They knew that Melanie was not a choice victim for the UnSub, but if he were to become pressured in anyway, she could be hurt in the fall out. "He knows what shifts you work and what times your lectures are in the morning. He also seems to know that you have a red bicycle that you sometimes ride to school, and you go away at weekends when someone picks you up in a black SUV..."

"No," she interrupted, looking panicked. "That's not me. I don't have a bike, and I don't go away at weekends. You're getting me confused." She looked around the room, then stood up.

"It's okay, Melanie, take a deep breath," JJ said as the girl became obviously anxious. "Who are we confusing you with?"

"Marie," Melanie said in a whisper, as if that was all she could manage. "We both do the same shifts at Charlie's Cafe. She goes back home each weekend. Her boyfriend picks her up, and she has a red bike." She looked around the room again, focusing on the shelf just underneath the mirror. "I don't think she came home last night."

Morgan looked at JJ. "Let's go check her room, see if she slept there," he said, standing also. "Is it possible she stayed out last night?"

Melanie shrugged. "I guess so. If she went to see a band play she'll sometimes crash at her sister's dorm."

They followed her to Marie's room where the door was slightly ajar. Pushing it open, Morgan could see that the bed was already made, an array of clothes scattered about the carpet.

"That's how it was yesterday," Melanie said, peering in. "I was waiting for her to get ready so we could leave for work together. Should I call her sister – see if she's there?"

"Yes," JJ said. "Do you have the number?"

Melanie nodded, pulling her cell out of her jeans pocket and going through its phone book. "Philly?" she said. "Is Marie with you? No? Do you know where she might be?" There was a pause. "No. Okay. I'll get her to call you." She looked at JJ. "She's not been there, and Philly's not spoken to her for a couple of days. Shit. This is bad isn't it?"

Neither Morgan nor JJ made any gesture.

"Could she already be at work?" Morgan said. "Maybe stayed with someone else last night?"

Melanie's eyes had begun to pool with tears. "She could. She's stayed out a couple of times before, but it seems a bit weird that my brother's had that letter and..." the tears began to flow.

JJ put a reassuring arm around the girl. "We should call your boss – see if she's turned up yet for work."

There was a shake of damp curls. "It's me and Marie who open up, and I have the key. Oh my God, what if she's dead? What if she's dead and I didn't even realise that she was missing..."

"We don't even know that she is missing yet," Morgan said. "Let's walk over to this coffee shop, and hopefully she'll be standing outside, waiting for you to open up."

* * *

_March 1981_

_Willow Springs,_

_Tooele County, Utah_

_A crow was cawing loudly as Lee made his way across the field instead of going straight home from school. He eyed it, willing it to shut up so he could think properly, without any noise around him to distract him from the importance of his thoughts. _

_And they were important thoughts. _

_It hadn't just been him and the boy watching yesterday, there'd been someone else too, who Lee hadn't seen. Lee wondered if the third watcher had felt the same way he had, if it had made him feel alive. It hadn't made the boy happy. Lee had been able to tell that by the way he'd cried on the way back to the meeting, been so upset and asking why they hadn't helped the woman. Then he'd cried more because he was scared that the man who did it would come after them. Lee'd reminded him that the man said he'd only come after them if they said something, and they weren't going to say anything. Then the boy had cried even more, so Lee had pushed him over so he fell on a path that was covered in gravel, cutting his knees. That had felt good too, but Lee hadn't done it because of that. He'd done it so there was a reason for the boy to be crying._

_At the other side of the field was a row of houses, all looking smart and pretty in the spring sunlight. Lee could see that birds were nesting under the eaves of one, and for a few seconds he waited to see if any would fly out of the nest. None did, and he heard the church bell ring, and knew he needed to hurry up if he wanted to complete his mission and get home before grandfather came home from work._

_He approached the last house of the left and knocked on the door. A few seconds later, a woman answered, one who looked like a younger, smaller and alive version of Maureen. "Hullo," Lee said. "I'm sorry about what happened. I just wondered if Jeremy wanted to come and play for a bit?"_

_The woman almost smiled. "I wish I was a child again," she said. "You have it so easy and you never realise until it's too late." The words made Lee's blood erupt with anger, but instead of showing it he smiled vacantly, like one of the boys in his class did whenever they were asked a question. "I'll ask him. He might not want to you see." She disappeared back inside._

_A minute later Jeremy stood on the doorstep, his eyes full of nothing. "I don't want to play," he said. "And why are you asking me? We never play together at recess."_

_Lee shrugged. "I just wanted to make sure you were alright," he said. "You know, after what you saw."_

_Jeremy starred at him. "You're a weirdo freak, do you know that?"_

_Lee gave him a smile. "What was it like, watching your grandmother get killed?" he said, enjoying the look of pain cross Jeremy's face. "Was anyone else watching?"_

"_Why?" Jeremy said, disgust in his voice. "Why would it matter if anyone else was watching? I can't remember, I can't remember anything, not even enough to help the police!" Tears began to streak down his face and Lee turned his back, walking away, satisfied that Jeremy had no idea that Lee and the boy had been watching._

_He heard the crow caw again as he walked back across the field, but this time it didn't interrupt his thoughts. His mission was complete._

* * *

_You know what to do people! I need to get at least two chapters written after work this week, and when you don't get home till 8pm, that's fairly tough going, so reviews and the promise of more reviews will certainly motivate me!_

_Next chapter will be up Tuesday._

_Sarah x_


	17. Chapter 17

_Thank you to those who have reviewed. I'm falling behind with review replies again – didn't get home from work last night until quarter to eleven, and only got in at eight fifty tonight. It was a choice of uploading this chapter or doing the replies, and I figured you'd prefer the chapter! Please do review though – getting them keeps me going!_

_Thank you to __**Chiroho**__ for the beta._

**Humanity**

"We all grow up with the weight of history on us. Our ancestors dwell in the attics of our brains as they do in the spiralling chains of knowledge hidden in every cell of our bodies.

- Shirley Abbott

**Chapter Seventeen**

She looked ravishing: brown hair, straight and shiny; a neatly tailored suit that looked both expensive and powerful; make-up that was subtle yet brought out the best in her features. He almost licked his lips as they entered the room, but that would have been giving the game away.

Was it a game?

He'd often considered his actions – he'd had plenty of time to do so of late – and could see nothing game-like about what he did. He courted women, to use an old fashioned term for it. He treated them properly, romanced them, and seduced them. He wanted a woman who was intelligent, dynamic, beautiful, and willing to give up her success for him.

The problem was, when they didn't want to give it up, it upset him. Quite a lot.

He stood up, imagining himself meeting her on a date for the first time. He thought about what he would say to her; all women liked to be told they looked beautiful, but some struggled to take the compliment and others thought it was just a line. He'd compliment her on her skin, he thought, the perfection in the porcelain quality that it had. Alabaster, he would liken it to. And she was confident; she'd be able to handle being flattered, and see the sincerity in him.

There was, he noticed, a glow to her this morning, a radiance that hadn't been there the day before. He glanced at the man next to her. Agent Hotchner. The type of man he'd spent most of his life loathing. He smiled at the agent, nodding at him briefly, and then let his eyes focus on her again.

"Good morning, agents," he said, sitting down when she did. It was courtesy, that was all. Manners. "I hope you had a nice evening?" The atmosphere had changed between them; there was some kind of bond there, a tie. He wondered if they were more than colleagues and he eyed Hotchner, a bubbling of rage inside him.

She nodded, her expression unwavering, the same polite but unemotional look on her face that had been there all day yesterday while she had been going through the deaths of each of his women. He'd memorised the photos she'd brought, lovingly caressed each detail with his eyes, before committing them to his dreams and fantasies. It had been good to see them again, all of them, but what fascinated him now, was the woman sitting in front of him.

When he was out of there, she'd be the first he would look for. He knew there could be no courtship, but they could spend some time together before the end. Quality time.

"We went over all the details of the case again last night," she said. There was no file in her hands today, which meant there were no more photos for him to look at. But he had her. "We think we may have an idea who has been targeting you."

Davey raised his eyebrows, wondering how they had come to this conclusion. "Really? This could change everything."

She nodded. _Emily Prentiss_. He recalled the name. He'd said it a few times before he'd fallen asleep, hoping to induce dreams in which she was the centre piece. "A Jonathan Evans. Have you heard of him?"

He shook his head. He wasn't sure he liked this.

She gave him a sympathetic sigh, and he found he hated the fact that she felt sorry for him. "Evans was dating Tiffany Marlow at the same time as you. We believe he discovered she was cheating on him, and that's what motivated him to kill her. After that, we think he started to stalk you, even going as far as having your phone tapped, a piece of evidence which has only just come to light." She paused, tipping her head to one side. "Are you alright, Mr Davey? I realise that this may be painful to listen to, given that you're spending time in jail because of this man."

"No, no," he said, trying to smile. "Have you found him?"

She nodded. "Our colleagues arrested him in the early hours of this morning. We'll be questioning him later."

"We do believe," Agent Hotchner said, and Davey swore he saw him shift closer to his Emily, "that we have the right man, and that as soon as we have a confession we should be able to release you. You should speak to your lawyer about compensation for your time spent in jail."

"Does this Evans fit your profile?" Davey said, having barely heard Hotchner's words. His heartbeat was racing, and he felt blinded by jealousy. How dare they have found someone who they think could have committed his – acts of love.

She nodded, giving him another sympathetic smile. "Almost perfectly. He's intelligent enough to have framed you, getting away with these five atrocious murders for so long. After he'd tapped your phone, he then set about stalking you, waiting for you to make a connection with another woman and then taking her away from you. We're surprised you didn't notice what he was doing."

He began to drum his fingers on the table, humming a tune he recalled his mother singing, but never knew what it was. "How else does he fit the profile?"

"He's attractive," she said. "Remarkably so. Which is probably how he managed to get into their houses. We believe that he was dating both Leah Wiles and Janine Holt as well, making advances to them once he found out you were dating them. I'm sorry – I know you want to remember these women as they were." She stood up, giving him another sympathetic smile.

Agent Hotchner stood with her. "We'll be in touch within the next few hours. And I'm sorry about what's happened to you in here, Mr Davey. We should have realised that you wouldn't be capable of these crimes."

And then he saw it. Hotchner put a hand on the small of her back. He heard his mother's voice, the tune stopping abruptly as she began to speak. _You'll never be good enough for anyone, especially her. She'll break your heart when she finds someone who's handsome and intelligent and successful. Because let's face it, you'll never be like that._

"Take your hand off her!" he shouted, standing up. "You don't think I'm good enough do you?" The voice didn't seem to belong to him and for a moment he was scared. Then the rage came.

"Sit down, Mr Davey," he heard her say. "Sit down and tell me why you're not good enough."

He sat down, her calm tone almost dragging him there. He remembered the times he'd raged at his mother, and then she'd cooled his temper down in just a few words. "No one ever thought I could do it," he said. "She said I'd never keep a girlfriend. And now you don't believe any more that I killed my girls." He began to regain composure. "There is no Jonathan Evans is there?"

She shook her head. "No. But you obviously didn't like someone else taking credit for what you did."

"It wasn't me," he said, feeling cornered. His eyes began to dampen as he tried to draw her closer to him. "I couldn't hurt anyone."

"These crimes were done by someone who was exceptionally intelligent, Richard. Someone who had to be attractive and charming. If you say you didn't do them, then are you saying that you're none of these things?" she said, her voice now questioning and harsh.

He flickered his eyes about the room. "You're very beautiful," he said. "Your skin is like alabaster. I could make you come alive."

She laughed. "Why would I want anything to do with a man like you?" she said. "You can't get anything right."

He turned away from her. "I'm cleverer than you," he said, to whom, he wasn't sure. "I've done things you'll never know about, that you'll never get me for."

"That's because no one thinks you're capable," Hotchner said. "No one thinks you can do it." It was matter of fact, dismissive.

He had a choice: to keep quiet and let someone else take credit for what he'd done, or tell them now. There were other things he could tease them with, have them marvelling at his intelligence for years to come. They might even send _Emily Prentiss_ to interview him. Alone.

"But I did do it, Agent. I did all of them, and more that you'll never know about."

He thought they'd want to hear more, that he could keep them spellbound for another day as they tried to make him relive the other things he'd done. But instead they both left the room, without saying another word, leaving him alone, without his Emily.

* * *

"This is proving to be an interesting day," Morgan said as they pulled up outside a small, single storey house a few miles outside of the hubbub of the city and into quiet countryside. JJ found she liked it here; the peace and serenity it emitted were palpable and soothing. There was a gentle wind sweeping up any lose leaves that freshened the place and brought it alive, and for a second JJ felt as if she had come home.

"This place is nice," she said, not wanting to overstate. "I can see why Janice Allen chose to move here, other than to be with her niece."

Morgan nodded, still seemingly preoccupied and JJ decided not to push it. They were already behind schedule on what they had to clear today, the disappearance of Marie Finlay having taken up a couple of hours of their time while Angela 'Dol' Thomas took charge of the missing person's investigation. There was still no sign of the girl; she hadn't turned up for work and had so far been out of contact with everyone since late yesterday evening. JJ hoped she'd simply been waylaid somewhere, stayed over with an old friend and had become caught up in it all. It didn't look likely.

She followed Morgan up the path to the door, noticing an elderly lady looking out from behind the curtain. She figured it was Miss Allen; grey haired and in her seventies, her face slightly rounded. She nodded as she saw JJ looking at her, her expression calm. She'd been expecting them, JJ having made a phone call yesterday to see if she had returned from her trip.

The door was opened before they'd had chance to knock, the lady sprightlier than her age suggested, and JJ saw Morgan give her his most respectful smile.

"Ms Allen," he said, showing her his identification. "I'm Agent Derek Morgan and this is Agent Jennifer Jareau."

Janice Allen nodded, giving them an appraising look. "You didn't do yourself justice, my dear," she said. "When you described yourself you didn't say how pretty you were."

For a moment, JJ's tongue was well and truly tied. "I just..." she began, wondering what comments Morgan would not have to make on the way back to Salt Lake City. Then she remembered that any teasing comments had ceased from him, and was almost thankful for his sudden change in mood.

Ms Allen shook her head, smiling. "Come in, the pair of you," she said. "I've been baking this morning, and as my niece is on a constant diet, I've been looking forward to having someone to try it out."

They were led into a sitting room that was airy and bright, comfortably warm without the stifling heat that some houses seemed to shed once the cold weather began. JJ sat down on a floral printed sofa, and felt the urge to slip of her shoes, pull her feet up underneath herself, and fall asleep. There was something about this place that was putting her at ease, and she wished she could bottle it and take it home.

"She seems to have recovered well," JJ said in hushed tones to Morgan as Ms Allen left them to go to the kitchen.

Morgan nodded, making eye contact with JJ for the first time since they had set off from the cafe where Melanie and Marie worked. "I guess some people are just better at getting over things than others," he said. "Let's hope she can explain a few things."

Ms Allen returned a few moments later, pushing an old fashioned tea-trolley laden with china plates, cups, and a tea pot. JJ smothered a smile at the neatness of it all, not wanting to offend the rather sweet old lady who was now insisting on passing everything out herself and not allowing them to help. A pang of sadness ran through JJ as she recalled the reason for them being there, and she tried to focus on the generous helping of lemon drizzle cake that was passed to her.

"You know," Ms Allen said, eventually sitting down. "It's the little things that make your life what it is, not the big events. I baked every Sunday when I was working at the clinic, and every Monday I'd take in a tin of fancies and lemon cake just like this one here. It brightened the day. There's a young man called Michael who works at the delicatessen where I shop, and every time I'm there he always holds the door right open for me. A small thing, but it makes me smile that someone still has the manners and the courtesy to do that. The big things – well, they aren't significant in the scheme of things. The small things; they're what eventually count." She bit into a piece of the cake and smiled, obviously pleased with her baking. "You know, you'd hope that after more than sixty years of making this recipe it'd taste good, yet it also surprises me when it does."

"It is good," JJ said, finishing the last crumb and trying not to think of the number of calories she'd just ingested. "We need to ask you a few questions, Ms Allen."

"About that night?" the woman said, appearing perfectly calm and unflustered.

JJ shook her head. "No, about before that night. Back when you were working at the William H. Munday centre in Tooele."

Ms Allen smiled, her eyes filled immediately with reminiscences. "I remember it perfectly well. Which years do you want me to go back to?"

"The late seventies, early eighties. We're interested in any children who were brought into the clinic on a regular basis for different injuries. Any where you might have suspected that the injuries weren't accidental," Morgan said.

JJ watched her reaction. They'd discussed it as a team on a conference call just before going to Melanie Savage's apartment, the theory that the UnSub's targets were linked to them not having helped him in some way, that they hadn't stopped the abuse he was suffering. Ms Allen's expression turned thoughtful, and she looked at them carefully before she spoke.

"You know, you wouldn't think we'd have so many children come through our door that we just wanted to take home, bathe and show them some love. Some were brought in by older siblings who'd taken the role of parent, and we even had one or two who brought themselves. Most were brought in by parents, or people in _loco parentis, _and we would often see fear lurking in their eyes when they answered the questions. But you want to know if there are any specific children that stand out," she said, picking up the cup and saucer and taking a sip of the tea. "There are a few, four to be exact, who worried me more than others."

She let the silence fall, allowing it to insulate what she had said while drinking the rest of her tea. Morgan had merely sipped at his, and JJ knew that was because he much preferred coffee. Ms Allen eyed them, watching their movements and JJ wondered for a moment exactly who the profiler was. She was pretty sure that Ms Allen would have Morgan sussed out already.

"You're profilers," she said, as if reading JJ's mind.

"No," JJ said, interrupting gently. "Agent Morgan is. I'm the media liaison officer for the team."

Ms Allen shook her head. "You could be a profiler if you wanted, girl, you just don't choose to have the title. You do whatever suits you, and don't let anybody bully you into anything else. Anyway, profiling was something you learnt as a nurse. You saw people every day, and after a few years on the job you could read them like a book. These four boys, well, it would never have surprised me to have seen them on America's Most Wanted, should I have been able to recognise them."

She paused, swallowing. "Jackson Perry. He was born in 1976. Lived in Tooele itself. If it had been ten years later I'm sure his mommy would have been diagnosed with Munchausen's-By-Proxy. He had this look about him, this 'you'll-die-before-I-will' attitude going on. Then there was Maxwell Hassell and he suited his surname. He'd never make eye contact, and I never liked having to dress any wounds of his - he was always cold. Johnnie North was another; he lived in Daisy Bank Nook and was one of seven kids. I caught him once teasing some small child round the back of the centre, and he was being cruel with it, manipulating them. He was clever that one, clever but nasty. A bad combination."

This time Morgan broke the silence after it had continued for a minute or so, Ms Allen looking into nothing except her memories. "You said there was a fourth?"

Nodding, she turned her glance to Morgan. "Yes, I did, and there was. I feel funny telling you about this one. He was a forlorn thing; quiet and nervous, and clearly adored his grandmother who he lived with – called her Nana, I remember. He had a lot of injuries over time and she always took him somewhere to be treated. I spoke to an old friend who worked at a clinic over in Utah once, and she'd even been there with him. They stood out; the boy had something about him. Then one day, he came in with a yeast infection and something about him had changed; he was sullen and sulky, and he had this knowing look in his eye as if he suddenly understood exactly what he had to do. I didn't like the way he looked at me at all." She shook her head, picking up another slice of lemon cake.

"Do you remember when that was?" Morgan said, his eyes fixed intently on Ms Allen.

"Almost to the day. It was just after the attempted assignation of President Reagan," she said. "My memory hasn't failed me yet. I didn't recognise my attacker, though. In a situation like that you just try to stay alive."

"And the boy's name?" Morgan asked. JJ could see his keenness now, the scent of a chase being hinted at.

She looked at them sadly. "Lee," she said. "Lee Ashley."

* * *

_Don't forget to review! Let me know what you think. _


	18. Chapter 18

_Firstly, thank you to my amazing beta, __**Chiroho, **__who I have probably unintentionally ignored this week, having been rather too busy for my own liking. I shall send you the recipe for the soup!_

_Thank you for the reviews! Keep them coming! Thanks to Laura, Jaspers Mary, Kim and Rosamund Clifford – I'm sorry I haven't emailed you, but the website blocks email addresses from showing up in reviews! I have managed to do very brief review replies. I wish I had time for longer ones, but unless someone can pop an extra couple of hours in... I will reply more thoroughly during my half term break which is in a couple of weeks._

**Humanity**

"Even a happy life cannot be without a measure of darkness, and the word happy would lose its meaning if it were not balanced by sadness. It is far better take things as they come along with patience and equanimity."

- Carl Jung

**Chapter Eighteen**

An ashen, fading sun sat low on the horizon as altostratus clouds lightly covering the pale blue of the sky, promising snow sometime later. The road they had been travelling on was quiet, almost empty; their only companions being others who seemed to simply want to get from one place to the next in the least amount of time possible. It was the same at the roadside diner where they were now. No one else made eye contact or smiled, they all remained as anonymous as the clouds in the sky.

An older couple were sitting two tables away, sipping lattes and reading through the day's papers. Their heads were bent down, and their companionable silence slipped over to the table where Emily sat, drinking her second cup of coffee while Hotch sat outside talking to Jack on his cell. She glanced out of the window and looked over at the bench where he was sitting; his coat zipped up high to provide warmth against the bitterness of the wind that was blowing. Last night seemed like an all too distant memory, no longer in Technicolor, but now in pastel shades that were fading. Since they had broken Davey there had been no discussion of what had happened in the hotel room, no slight touches or glances that lasted a little too long; instead they had reverted to type and discussed work, and she had found herself feeling a little uncomfortable, wanting to spend a little time talking about them.

She'd pushed those feelings aside of course, knowing that the chance to have time to themselves would come, but now, sitting on her own for a few minutes, her mind began to race. Emily toyed with her cell phone, distracting herself from staring at Hotch outside, and came across JJ's details in her address book. JJ had called them around thirty minutes ago with an update on the missing girl and the information Janice Allen had passed on. Garcia was already trying to track Lee Ashley down in cyber space, but had so far found nothing since 2001.

Emily hit the call button, hoping that JJ was no longer with Morgan and would have time for a two minute chat that didn't involve murderers and attacks. The voice that answered sounded frazzled and rather harassed, and Emily instantly regretted not keeping everything to herself as she generally did.

"You okay?" she said, taking her focus off herself.

A loud sigh was the response. "Thank God it's you," JJ said. "I didn't check caller ID. For some reason – and actually I know the reason – I've taken five successive phone calls from various journalists who can smell the story of Savage's missing sister from two counties away. Tell me you want to talk about something other than missing girls and general nastiness for five minutes, because if not I think I'm going to go insane."

Emily chuckled. "I have plenty of things other than that to discuss," she said. "Hotch's outside the diner where we've stopped, talking to Jack, so I have about five minutes."

"You did the deed then," JJ said. It wasn't a question. "How was it? And by that I don't need the details, just general notification of how things went and how they are now."

"It was... good, really good and not weird like I thought it would be in the morning. I think the fact that it hasn't been strange afterwards may end up weirding us both out. We haven't spoken about it though, not since he went back to his room this morning," Emily said, spitting it all out in one go.

There was a brief silence that caused Emily to wonder if JJ was still there, followed by a slight rush of breath that told Emily JJ was just thinking. "I'm surprised he stayed," JJ said. "I would have thought he'd have left during the night. He hasn't been cold with you in any way since, has he?"

"No," Emily said, seeing Hotch stand up, his cell still stuck to his ear. "He's been normal, I guess. Smiled a few more times than usual, but that might be because we got the desired outcome."

"Or it might be because he had a happy," JJ said, using a euphemism that Emily was sure had come from Garcia. "I'd give him some breathing space. Chances are he'll come find you tonight after we've all caught up. It'll be good to have you back; the boys are now officially driving me insane, and I think that Hotch will need to speak with Morgan. Something's still not right there."

"In what way?" Emily said. "I figured he was just tired like the rest of us, and that he was dealing with it less well than usual."

"He's quiet, uncommunicative unless it's about the case, and appears preoccupied. I haven't known him to be like this before, and even Garcia's called me to ask if something's happened. He might respond if you speak with him, Emily," there was a tone to JJ's voice that concerned Emily, one that was almost desperate.

"I'll see what I can do, Jayje, but it might be Hotch whodoes better talking to him. We'll be back in a few hours anyway. Just stop Morgan from maiming Reid, and Rossi from well, generally being David Rossi. Hopefully we'll get a breakthrough on this case and be able to get back home. We've had a tough few weeks," Emily said, doing her best to reassure JJ.

"I know," JJ said. "It's been a long couple of days, and now I could do with another celebrity scandal to take the spotlight off Marie Finlay's disappearance."

"There's no hint as to where she might be?" Emily said, any concerns about her budding relationship shelved.

"Nothing. No one seems to know anything. The general consensus is that she's been taken by the UnSub," JJ said, more than a note of exasperation in her words.

"That doesn't fit the profile," Emily said, her head whirring with thoughts. "He hasn't been pushed enough by the media to take such a downward spiral yet. JJ, has Reid looked though _all_ the letters the UnSub sent to Savage?"

"You're thinking this could be a red herring?" JJ said, sounding a little more energetic. "It's certainly a good way for James Savage to enhance his profile. I'm not sure if Reid has read through the last letter yet. I'll have him check right away."

"Sure," Emily said, watching Hotch as he began to walk back into the diner, tucking his cell into his pocket. "Hotch is on his way back in. I'll speak with you soon. We're heading straight to yet another prison to re-interview George Mulliner, so we'll see you later for dinner and a de-brief."

"Okay. I'll let you know about the letter," JJ said, and Emily heard her shouting for Reid before the line went dead.

She felt Hotch's presence behind her before she heard his footsteps. Looking up, she gave him an unsure smile as he sat down facing her. "Is Jack okay?" she asked.

He nodded. "He's fine. Wanted to know when we were going to go to the zoo again," he said, giving her a slight smile. "You ready to go? We've still got another three hours before we get to West Bountiful, and that's if I break a few traffic laws."

The dry humour of his words tickled her, and she couldn't help but laugh a little. His eyes twinkled at her response, and she put a hand on his arm as she stood, unable to resist the contact. "I'll grab a couple of coffees to go, and maybe one of those blueberry muffins."

There was something in his eyes that held her gaze as he nodded, and she wondered exactly what she was getting herself into as she allowed the waves of strangled emotion within them to pull her under.

* * *

Angela 'Dol' Thomas looked around the apartment the missing girl had shared with her friends and screwed up her nose. It was untidy to say the least, and she wondered at exactly what age girls went from messy teenagers to house proud women. Then again, she had a sister who was yet to make that transition and at the age of forty-three, Dol doubted that it would ever happen.

Marie Finlay's room was in such as state of disarray that Dol would quite easily believe that she had been abducted after an almighty struggle. Three teenage daughters of her own however, told her that Marie had probably just had a difficult time in deciding what to wear for the past couple of days. Dol sat down on the bed and stared at the bureau Why would a man who was more interested in assaulting, torturing and then killing elderly people all of a sudden take an interest in a nineteen year old girl? Agent Jareau had just called the team at the apartment to tell them that there was a possibility that Marie was with James Savage, and it was a set up, but until they knew that for sure, they needed to consider the possibility that the UnSub had mistaken her for Savage's sister.

The top drawer of the bureau was slightly ajar, and feeling the guilt that only a curious mother could, she stood up and pulled it fully open. It was where, she knew, most young girls kept any personal possessions that they wanted to keep secret. The most obvious place.

She rummaged between bras and panties and found a journal with a pink fairy embossed on the cover. Flicking it open, she turned to the last entry which was dated just a few days previously. Scanning the words, she noted that there was no mention of James Savage; he did not even flicker on Marie's radar, which given that she was a pretty thing, and James was not what could be described as handsome, Dol was not surprised. A couple of sentences caught her eye though, one mentioned being followed home, and the other referred to her aunt, a Priscilla Daws, who had recently died. Dol pocket the diary and continued her search, only stopping when the door was pushed open and Ryan White walked into the room.

She'd worked with him a long time, and her own children had been looked after by his wife on many occasions. She suspected that one of her daughters had been on a few dates with White's eldest son, but was keeping it quiet because of the teasing that would be inevitable. "Anything?" he said, peering into the drawer and looking quickly away. Girls' underwear was not something he would chose to investigate.

"A diary. I think I'll pass it on to Agent Jareau and that kid who seems like a brain on legs. You?" she said, pulling out a creased printout of an email.

"Nothing. The place is such a mess I wouldn't be able to tell you if anything was missing or not. Reminds me of Helen's bedroom before she went to college," he said, provoking a smile from Dol. "I'm sure I saw your Charlotte in Josh's car the other day. Was he giving her a ride somewhere?"

Dol chocked back a laugh. "I think they're seeing each other," she said. "Let's save that conversation for Saturday night, if you and Lou are still able to make it." Poker night happened once a month, and for her at least, was a nice little earner. "You any theories on where Marie is?"

He shook his head. "None. I can't see her having wandered off somewhere without telling someone. From all accounts she was reliable and safety conscious. My common sense tells me that something has happened to her. The only other possibility is that she is with James Savage, but I don't see any female with an ounce of common sense taking up with that scroat," he said, picking up a photograph of Marie with a woman who Dol assumed was her now deceased aunt.

"Agent Rossi was saying earlier that they think the UnSub has a list of targets, and they're all people who he has some sort of grievance against. What if Marie's aunt was one of them, and because she's already dead, he's seeking revenge in a different way?" Dol said, looking over White's shoulder at the photo.

White shrugged. "Maybe. But isn't it more likely to be a case of mistaken identity? You know, going after the journo's sister."

"But why choose James Savage to be the one to send information to in the first place? The killer could have chosen him because of the link with Marie; a double score, if you like," Dol said, pulling open the door and leaving the room, White following her.

"I suppose," White said. "I need a coffee. You think if we go to that place where Marie and Savage's sister work she'll be there to serve us?"

"No such luck," Dol said. "We'll be lucky to get home before midnight, and you know they won't cough up for overtime."

* * *

It was a different room that Hotch and Emily were led to once they reached West Bountiful Penitentiary. Mulliner was already sitting there, his arms folded and his features stern. They'd been informed on arrival that Mulliner had a meeting arranged for the morning with a journalist from Utah State Journal, a weekly state-wide paper with a large readership, and Hotch had raised his eyebrows at Emily, knowing that she would have put the same two pieces of information together.

Mulliner was about to confess to more than three murders. He was taking up the UnSub's challenge.

"You made sure I got that last letter, didn't you?" Mulliner said, looking at Hotch at they sat down. His wrists were cuffed to the table, his eyes as steely as the cuffs themselves. "You knew what I would want to do when I read it."

Hotch was surprised at his openness. Rather than speak, he left it for Mulliner to fill the silence. If he was in the mood to talk, then Hotch wasn't going to take up his air time.

"I killed my second woman on the day that someone failed in assassinating Ronald Reagan. I can't remember the exact date, but it was in Willow Springs, Tooele County. Three boys saw me commit that crime; the grandson of the woman who was in the house at the time, and two boys who I think had followed me from the church meeting my beloved mother was at. One of them looked as terrified as a hunted rabbit, but the other looked as if he had just seen God. I have no idea what their names were, but I don't want this little fucker trying to outdo me anymore. I want you to catch him, and stick him somewhere the sun don't shine," Mulliner stopped talking, punctuating his speech with a fist banging on the table.

"Hasn't he already out done you?" Hotch said, his voice calm and quiet. He knew the words would do the enraging. "He's already attacked more people than you did."

Mulliner eyeballed him, his glance flicking over to Emily. "He's attacked more than me – only when you count the ones that you know about. I'm seeing some hack tomorrow, which is when I'll be giving details and making sure this fucker knows who he's playing with. Now, Agents, I want to know what I'm going to get for helping you." His tone was menacing and Hotch bristled at how his eyes crept over Emily..

"Who says you're getting anything, Mulliner?" Hotch said. "You've just confessed to another murder, and hinted at having committed more. The only thing you'll be getting is a longer sentence, maybe being transferred elsewhere - somewhere without the added comforts."

Mulliner was silent, as if considering his options. When he began to speak it was slowly, considering every word. "What I say is probably going to make your killer commit more crimes. And if I remember rightly, you almost need that, because every time he kills you learn more about him. But what you don't want is for him to become so unhappy that he goes on a little spree, which I'm sure a few choice words would result in." Mulliner smiled, showing a row of browned teeth.

Hotch stood up. "I think you forget who is in a greater position of power here, George. The reporter you're meeting tomorrow will only print what I allow him to, and we can, and will, manipulate whatever you've said when it goes to print. That's if it goes to print." He felt a sense of satisfaction as a look of rage crossed Mulliner's face and he pulled at the handcuffs.

"George," Emily said, drawing his attention. Hotch caught the change in expression as Mulliner's eyes went to Emily. It was softer, then his pupils widened with lust. "Why does our killer feel like he's competing with you? You said he saw you kill a woman more than twenty five years ago – maybe you inspired him? But why does he want you to confess to more murders?"

Mulliner shrugged. "Maybe he wants more attention because he didn't get it when he was a kid? You're the experts in psychology – you tell me. All I know is that if he was involved in that church, he wouldn't have had a happy life. I bet you could make me happy," he said. "I bet I could make you happy. You know, run my fingers up your..."

"That's enough, George," Hotch said, Mulliner's face breaking into a wide smile. "I know you're bluffing. Your medical reports say you've been impotent for the past five years." Mulliner's expression paled. "It's one piece of information that the public will enjoy reading."

"Bastard," Mulliner said, his voice now quiet and calm, not having risen too much to Hotch's bait. "I still know people outside, you know. People who would only be too happy to make sure you have some little accident. It can all be arranged. Especially when I tell them that having her can be their reward." Mulliner smiled at Emily, widening his eyes at her.

Emily stood, picking up her purse and slinging it over her shoulder. Hotch saw her glance at him, and knew that she wanted out of there. He caught her eyes and she lifted her chin, one of the tiny pieces of non verbal communication they had mastered over the past few months of working so closely together. Something hit him inside his chest at that moment, and he quelled the urge he had to pull her close.

"Sleep well, George," he said as they left the room, the guard outside opening the door immediately that they knocked.

"Are you okay?" he asked as they walked down the corridor towards the exit.

She paused in her walk, the click of her heels falling quiet. Resting her back against the wall, she looked at Hotch with eyes that swam with emotion. She was a tough woman, he knew that; it was one of the reasons he found her so attractive. Yet she wasn't too tough to show how she felt. "I'm tired, I've had to be neartwo creepy men today, and we're still a way off catching the man we've come here for," she said, her head dropping back against the wall. He stepped closer to her, using his peripheral vision to check that there was no one else around.

Hotch nodded. "We know more today than what we did yesterday," he said. "We have a name, and more details with which we can amend the profile. There's something else though. Is it last night?"

She sighed. "No, not in that I have any regrets. I don't. And we've been so focused on the case today and Davey... I just – I don't know. I feel like I was expecting there to be a strangeness and it didn't happen, so now I don't know what to expect. I'm sorry Hotch, this isn't the time." She gestured around them with her hand. "We're in the middle of a prison and we should be focusing on the case."

Hotch shook his head. "We've spent the day doing our job without letting what's happening between us interfere. That's no bad thing, but it doesn't mean I haven't been able to put images from last night out of my head; or haven't wanted to repeat them several times during the day." He felt his face grow warm at his confession. "Em, we've got half an hour before we have to head back. There's a park a mile down the road; let's stop for a bit and get some air."

She nodded, not looking at him for a moment. When her gaze returned determination shone in her eyes. "I'm not going to make a habit of this, Hotch," she said.

He began walking, her heels clicking again at his side. "None of the team is here. It's not like we're going to play truant from work and not get the job done. I think we're allowed a few minutes to ourselves."

She was quiet for a moment, the entrance in sight. "Does that mean you want to spend the night with me again?"

He turned and looked at her, a rush going through him. "If you're happy with that, then yes," he said, keeping his words and voice as calm as he had done when interviewing Mulliner. He caught her smile out of the corner of his eye.

Little more was said as they signed out their weapons and cell phones, heading back to the Suburban. He drove to the park at just over the speed limit, wanting to make the most of the fresh air and the petering sunlight. They parked in a space near a gate which led to a path running through a group of trees, and by the time he had pulled on his jacket, she was already through it, her hands huddled into the pockets of her thick winter coat.

Once he'd caught up with her, he wrapped an arm round her waist and pulled her to his side, smiling broadly as she almost fell into him, slightly off balance. He felt himself relax, as if the air he'd been holding in all day had just been exhaled and he enjoyed the moment.

A bird sang in a nearby tree, an answering call coming from a few metres away, and they stopped to try and catch sight of it. He felt Emily shiver, and pulled her into him, pleased when she allowed him to give her warmth. Her independence scared him a little. His relationship with Haley had been very much him as the man of the house, the provider. And although Haley could never be described as a weak woman, she was nothing like Emily, who could easily fend for herself as well as him.

"Why do you want a relationship?" he said, noticing that she had closed her eyes, her hands now wrapped in his inside his pockets. They had been physically close obviously the night before, but this closeness was different, its primary reason was not sexual.

"What a strange question," she said, opening her eyes and looking up at him.

"It isn't," he said. "You're independent in all respects; you certainly don't need someone to look after you, and you're not the type of woman who wants a man so she can look after him."

She laughed, and he got the feeling it was at him rather than with him, especially as he wasn't actually laughing. "I don't need a relationship, Aaron." He felt his face fall and she laughed again. "I am good on my own, but I do want companionship - someone to talk to, to share things with. Sex," she shrugged. "I feel something for you that isn't just going to go away, and I want to pursue it."

He nodded, unsure of what to say. "I guess I'm happy with that answer," he said, his fingers now in her hair.

She lifted her face to his and kissed him, her cold nose brushing against his. He wished they could check into a hotel away from Salt Lake City and immerse themselves in each other for a few days, but he knew that stolen, fleeting moments like this were all that they would get until they were back home. And he would be content with that. For now.

* * *

_It's my birthday this weekend – Sunday – and I'm going to be having a wee party on Saturday to celebrate turning the grand old age of 30, so I doubt I'm going to get time to post on Sunday as relatives and friends will be around and I'll be expected to be 'sociable', which doesn't, according to my better half, involve alone time with my laptop!_

_If you want to send me a birthday gift, then please REVIEW! They have been substantially down for the past couple of chapters, which worries me that people no longer like the story enough to review. And if you have the time and the inclination, you can vote for this story and Calverville Point at .com/cmfanficawards/ as well as other great fics and authors._

_Sarah x_

_Chapter 19 will be posted on Tuesday._


	19. Chapter 19

_Thank you for all the birthday wishes and reviews! I had a great weekend, and was greeted at work on Monday with a phone call from OFSTED – for those outside the UK, they are the people who inspect schools. As you can imagine, all the staff are manically busy as the inspection is Wednesday and Thursday, then after that we can return to normality, hopefully with a good result._

_This means I've done next to no writing, and Chapter 20 isn't actually finished yet, and won't be until Friday at the earliest, and then beta'd by weekend. I will post it by Sunday, possibly Saturday depending on my wonderful, but currently ill, beta (hey there, __**Chiroho**__), but I certainly won't be able to post Thursday as the inspection doesn't end until then._

_So, I hope you enjoy, and please send some good vibes (preferably in the form of a review) as I am a dead cert to be observed teaching over the next couple of days, and it is a teacher's worse nightmare! I promise I'll get back to three posts a week next week, and maybe find the time to write a little one shot!_

_Thanks for the reviews and thank you Laura, Ecda, Sophie and Lizzy, and I'll catch up with replies at the weekend, as I now need to go write questions for my maths class!_

_Sarah x_

**Humanity**

"Laughter and tears are both responses to frustration and exhaustion. I myself prefer to laugh, since there is less cleaning up to do afterward."

- Kurt Vonnegut

**Chapter Nineteen**

Between the bar and the table he'd counted six people staring at him, of whom only two made him suspicious. He couldn't help it; the line of work he'd undertaken for the last however many years made him naturally cautious about who was watching and potentially listening. Tonight, however, the two who had flashed on his radar were more likely trying to sniff out whether JJ or Emily were attached to any of the men they were with, not fishing for secrets from the FBI.

Rossi sat down in the middle of a conversation between Hotch and Reid about the geography of the attacks, and its relevance in predicting where the next one might be. Both seemed to be agreeing that they couldn't use a geographical profile to predict the UnSub's next act, but failed to realise they were in fact agreeing with one another. He glanced at Emily as he sat down and she rolled her eyes, her smile showing amusement.

From their closeness he could assume that the two nights away from the rest of the team had been about pleasure as well as business, at least he hoped it had been. He had noticed, and he assumed the rest of them had as well, the brief glances they'd been giving each other, the slight brush of hands when they thought nobody was watching, and the way Hotch had followed Emily to the bar on two occasions. The second time, they'd had to wait longer for their drinks because they'd spent so long talking at the bar. It was, Rossi recognised, the first flush of love; that time when everything appeared exciting and new, and sometimes a little scary. He looked forward to watching them after that first throw had finished, and seeing what it developed into.

A burst of laughter drove him from his thoughts and he looked around the table. "Penny for them, Rossi?" JJ said, spooning pasta into her mouth.

"They're worth far more than that," he said, looking directly at Hotch, who would understand what those thoughts had been about and divert the conversation away from them. "It's good to have you both back."

"It's good to be back," Emily said, sipping at a glass of red wine. "I've almost missed Reid's diatribes."

"You missed the one about the fallibility of technology," JJ said after swallowing. "His phone had a period of not working too well, so we were treated to a long, long lecture about life before mobile phones. Like he remembers."

Rossi watched Reid as he smiled to himself. "Really – I do remember, and..."

"And stop there, kid," Rossi said. "This is time out. We agreed no work talk until morning, and that includes delving back into the dark ages." He brought the glass of amber liquid to his lips and inhaled, the scent of the scotch filtering into his blood stream and soothing him like waves lapping against the shore of a sandy beach.

"Let me tell you this," Reid said, looking around at everyone as if challenging them to a duel. No one protested; JJ began to focus on what was left of her pasta, Morgan took out his cell and checked for messages, and Rossi felt half convinced that Hotch and Emily were playing footsie under the table. He dropped his napkin as he reached over to get a left over piece of garlic ciabatta, and leant down to pick it up, looking directly across and seeing both Hotch's feet under his chair. Rossi frowned, making sure he erased the expression before emerging. He'd been convinced something was going on under the table.

"...was a saloon," Reid was back in full flow. "This was back in the time of the Old West, of course. In fact, I could even start the story with 'once upon a time'. This side of the city where the precinct is wasn't part of Salt Lake, but a smaller town on its own named Hattanville. There was some confusion over the deeds as to who owned the town that resulted in the sheriff and his deputy and the saloon's owner, who was unusually for the time a woman, being held hostage. It all turned out well in the end, or so records say. The saloon was rebuilt, and after the owner died many years later, she left the building to local law enforcement. That's what we're in today."

"Spence, how do you know this stuff?" Rossi said, realising that his scotch had been swallowed and he was sure it wasn't by him.

Reid shrugged. "I was talking with Nina who cleans in the evenings. She's about seventy six and seems to know everything there is to know about the place. She's a really interesting woman."

Rossi caught Hotch's eye, silent communication crossing the table. "You want to help me with a drinks run, Aaron."

Hotch's nod was the slightest Rossi thought he'd even seen, but he stood up and followed him across the restaurant area to the crowded floor of the bar.

"I assume you want to interrogate me about the last couple of nights, Dave?" Hotch said. "You really couldn't have been less discreet about it."

Dave chuckled. "You're being paranoid, Aaron. Everyone else was too relieved Reid had finished his history lesson to notice, but you're right I am curious about what happened in Garrison. You're an item then?"

"If that's what's it's being called these days, then I guess the answer's yes," Hotch said, catching the eye of the bartender. "I'm not providing any details, Dave, so don't ask."

"And I'm offended you'd think I'd want details. What I do want to know is how you're feeling about the whole thing," Rossi said, picking up the glass of double scotch on the rocks that had been placed before him.

Hotch looked thoughtfully at his own whisky before answering, and Rossi waited for the insight. "I'm scared she'll decide that I'm not what she wants."

Rossi raised his eyebrows. It was unlike Hotch to share something so raw. He'd expected some concern about work, or Strauss, not insecurity. "Why would you think that?" He knew, of course. Hotch didn't have the confidence he had for work in other aspects of his life, and the breakdown of his marriage had reinforced some of the perceptions he had of himself.

"She's beautiful, successful, intelligent..."

"Stubborn, speaks without thinking, insecure," Rossi interrupted. "And she knows her own mind. She wouldn't have spent the night with you if you weren't what she wanted, because you know she'll have analysed the potential of you and her in a relationship for at least three months before even admitting to herself that there was a spark there. For God's sake, Aaron, don't ruin this because you've got her on a pedestal." He sipped the whisky, knowing that this would be the last for the night and wanting to make it last.

Hotch nodded, swirling the whisky in his glass so it flowed over the ice cubes.

"You're staying with her tonight?" Rossi said. This was telling. If he was, for what he guessed would be the second consecutive night, then they were falling fast. If he wasn't, then they were still being cautious.

"I think so. We discussed it briefly. How are the rest of the team about it?"

"No one's surprised. No one cares, except in the sense that you're both happy. There's certainly no question over your professionalism. Roll with it, Aaron. This could take you to a happy place."

"And now you sound like Garcia," Hotch said, a slight wry smile creeping over his lips.

"Everyone should sound a little like Garcia at least once a day." Rossi picked up the white wine that had been poured for JJ and began to cross the room again, noticing Morgan picking up his jacket and making a quiet exit, disappearing outside.

"Has that been a regular occurrence?" Hotch said, having spotted the same thing.

"He's acting oddly, and is very subdued. No idea what's at the bottom of it though, but I predict there'll be some form of thunderstorm fairly soon. Morgan can only cope with the strain of being secretive for so long before he'll explode," Rossi said, looking at their table where Emily and JJ seemed to be amusing themselves by bullying Reid about his hair.

Hotch gave Rossi a look of bemusement. "Maybe these glasses of wine aren't such a good idea," he said.

"I disagree," Rossi said, as Emily mimed cutting one of Reid's locks. "And I suggest we bring bottles back next time."

* * *

Whichever architect had designed the building so that the bathrooms were a good three minutes walk from the bar area needed to go back to school, in Emily Prentiss' opinion. The evening was drawing to a close, a difficult day ahead looming ominously on the horizon, and the four pairs of eyes that were trying their best to stay open were in desperate need of soft pillows and a good seven hours sleep. She knew her own weren't much better, but adrenaline was putting a stop to any intentions of going to sleep quickly, at least she hoped she wouldn't be going straight to sleep anyway.

She paused as she was about to turn the corner to where the bathrooms were, hearing a familiar voice. A sense of deception came over her, as it had done when she had been twelve years old and heard her father making plans to see another woman. Emily wondered whether or not to make herself known, or to wait, and finally find out what was troubling Morgan.

There had already been an exchange of glances between other members of the team tonight when Morgan had slipped away. He was quiet and withdrawn, exactly how JJ had explained, and she understood her concern for him. But it was difficult to know just how to intervene. As close as they were when they worked together, there were certain aspects of themselves they tried to keep private. Emily knew that she was the worst at it, always being the type of person to wear her heart on her sleeve, and not being a big fan of secrets. Morgan and JJ were perhaps the most reserved, although even the latter had become more forthcoming with her feelings and personal life since having Henry. Morgan, however, had stayed reticent, some details about his private life only becoming apparent because of a case, or by accident when he spoke without thinking.

"You're okay then?" she heard him say. "He's out of your home?" There was a pause while he listened to the person on the other end, and Emily's curiosity began to win the battle over honesty. "You know, I can help you find a place to stay, you just need to say the word."

Emily moved closer to the corner, wondering exactly when she should emerge, and whether she should confess to what she had heard.

"Okay, I'll call you tomorrow. But if he does anything, you get yourself out of there and call me. You understand?" Another pause. "'Kay. Take care."

She heard the cell click shut, and imagined Morgan staring into space as he evaluated the conversation. She had no choice; she needed the bathroom desperately, and would have to make her presence known. But should she say anything, or ask?

"Hey," she said, turning the corner. "We wondered where you'd gone." She gave him a smile that she knew he would know was false.

"I had to make a call," he said, his expression a sign of the protective barrier with which he was now shielding himself.

Emily nodded. "I know, I heard."

Morgan eyed her to the extent where she felt almost cowered by him. "You listened into a private conversation?"

She eyed him back. "Derek, you're in a public place. I either had to interrupt you, or wait until you'd finished, so yes, I heard the end of your side of the conversation. From what I gather, it has something to do with how you've been acting over the past few days," she softened her look. "We're on your side. If something's bothering you, why not let us help you deal with it?"

Morgan shrugged, looking defensive. "Because this is nothing to do with the team, Emily. This is personal, and I'd rather deal with it myself."

"Then maybe you should try and find a better way to keep your personal life out of work, because everyone feels as if they're walking on eggshells around you. We're worried, Derek, and we want to help."

"I don't need help on this one," he said. "And I'm sorry if I'm a little quiet, but I have other things on my mind, and I would appreciate being left to sort them out for myself." He started to walk away from her. "Tell the others I've already gone back to the hotel."

She nodded, no words left to say and feeling hurt by his abrupt dismissal. "Way to go, Emily," she muttered under her breath once he was out of earshot and she was pushing open the door to the bathroom. "What a way to handle that one."

* * *

It took a while to get Rossi to leave the hotel bar to go to his room, eventually persuaded by Hotch in a not so subtle way, to which Rossi raised his eyebrows and looked accusingly at them.

"I can tell when I'm becoming a third wheel," he'd said, draining the last of his whisky.

"If only you'd realised about half an hour ago," Emily had replied, tipping her empty glass towards him. He'd rolled his eyes, then disappeared, a little wobbly on his legs after consuming more whisky than he'd be happy with in the morning.

And that left just her, Hotch, and a little silence.

"We should call it a night too," she said, looking at him nervously. "We've an early start in the morning and it's already past eleven."

He nodded, pushing his chair back and standing up. "We should." His gaze lingered, and she wondered if he was waiting for her to say something first.

"Aaron," she began, trying to choose her words more carefully than she had with Morgan. "You want to order a coffee and bring it up to my room?" They had the same two rooms, Hotch having reserved them before they'd left for Garrison.

"If you're not too tired," he said, his expression neutral, but his eyes told her that he was hanging on her answer.

Emily shook her head. "I'm fine. I could do with a coffee."

"You head up and I'll order the drinks," he said, his voice hinting at the relief he obviously felt. It pleased her, gave her confidence that he was unsure of her response. He wasn't taking anything for granted, and she liked that. It gave her control, and made her feel like she was his equal.

She took the elevator to their floor, the quietness of the hotel echoing around the corridor as she walked to her room. She'd managed to unpack quickly, just in time for the briefing they'd had before dinner, and her organisation paid dividends as she freshened up, applying a spray of perfume and running a comb through her hair before Hotch knocked on her door.

His entrance was quiet, yet his presence filled her room immediately. "The drinks should be here soon," he said, heading for the chair near the window.

"I spoke with Morgan earlier," Emily said. She hadn't mentioned the conversation to anyone until now, not wishing to fuel anyone's opinion of what was going on in his head at present. But she wanted to mention it to Hotch; to bring it to his attention and to share it with someone.

"I want to say something to him," Hotch said once she had finished. "But if I do it now, it will escalate his mood rather than alleviate it. Hopefully he'll be able to manage until we get back to the BAU and then I'll talk with him then."

A knock sounded at the door, and Emily opened it to find a tray with coffee. It was brought into the room, and a few seconds later they were left alone, with no further interruptions planned that night.

She poured the coffee from the cafetiere, the aroma softening the atmosphere in the room. As she carried the cups to the table where Hotch was sitting, he moved a hand to her waist, the first contact they'd had since they'd returned to Salt Lake City. Controlling herself, she put down the coffees and let herself be pulled closer to him. "Do you want me to stay the night?" he said. "It's been a long day, and I understand if you'd rather be on your own."

She gave a soft laugh. "I said before I wanted you to stay. Nothing's changed." Her voice was little more than a whisper not wanting to wake the night. His fingers had crept beneath her sweater onto bare skin, and she felt their anxiousness to touch. Emily bent down; moving her lips to his and allowing a sweetly soft kiss that promised more.

His response was hungrier, more urgent, his fingers tangling through her hair and pulling her closer to him. She fell into it, his passion, and let her body respond without debate. Now was not a time for control, and she let his mouth wander down her neck, his hands exploring the flesh underneath her sweater. His hunger slowed, allowing her time to breath and her skin to desensitize slightly after being set on fire.

Managing to grasp some self control, she unbuttoned his shirt, pushing it off his shoulders just before her sweater was tossed to the floor. She found she was enjoying his dominance, feeling perfectly safe, yet almost being drowned by his need. He'd moved her from the table to the bed, and was now dictating every sense.

She let the coffee go cold.

* * *

He woke around three, a foreign noise lifting him from a dreamless slumber. Emily was wrapped around him more than she had been the previous night, and he figured that the unusualness of them being together had faded a little, making her more subconsciously comfortable. Hotch turned onto his side, facing her, and put a hand on her bare back.

She didn't wake, lost to the gods of sleep, and for a moment he just listened to her breathing, the regular rhythm soothing in the strangeness of the hotel. He was used to hotels; they all were. Their anonymity made them all seem the same, blurring into one. But it felt strange, sharing a hotel bed with a woman. Beforehand, he thought they would have first slept together at his apartment, a place he knew every inch of, a place where he could make her feel at home. Instead, it had been in a half-empty hotel, and he wasn't sure how that made him feel.

But then, he was sure about less these days. There were no guidelines for certain things - like sleeping with your colleague.

He closed his eyes, intent on drifting back to sleep, knowing that even with a name they could be days from closing the case. Resilience and strength were needed, and staying awake all night brooding wasn't going to help. Emily stirred under his arm, and he became aware of her wakefulness.

"Aaron," she whispered and he felt her breath against his chest. He brushed the top of her head with his lips instead of replying. "Why are you awake?"

Coherence upon waking was not one of Emily's strengths. "Something woke me, and now I can't get back to sleep. If I'm going to keep you awake, I'll go back to my room..."

"No," she said quickly. "I'd rather you stay here." He felt her stiffen and waited for her explanation. "That sounded a little desperate, didn't it? I'm meant to be all hard to get, I know."

He laughed softly, his hand between her shoulder blades and his fingers playing with her hair. He became aware of her skin against his and his body responded of its own accord. "I'd rather you didn't play 'hard to get'," he said. "It's better for my ego." He felt her lips begin to softly graze his neck, and any tension left his upper body with a low groan.

Allowing himself to become empty of the thoughts and concerns that usually plagued him in the night's darkest hours was usually a difficult task, but she made it easy as she pushed the sheets away and he drank her in, the hotel room becoming a blur for an entirely different reason this time.

* * *

_September 1981_

_Tooele_

_Tooele County, Utah_

_It hurt. He wanted to cry, but pride stopped him, choked him, and it was only when his nana noticed that he wasn't drinking anything that she became worried._

"_What's the matter?" she asked, her hands in a bowl full of soapy water as she washed the dishes from dinner. "You're going to get sick if you don't have something to drink."_

_He shrugged, feeling miserable and hot. He kept shaking, which he was sure she had noticed, although he'd tried his best to stop the shakes when they happened._

"_Look boy, I know you're not well. You need to tell me what the matter is and then we can deal with it." She put her hands on hips that had become rather more rounded recently. He'd seen her a couple of times in Marlene's coffee shop, eating cream cakes with Angela Holmes, a friend of hers that Grandfather didn't like because she'd left her husband for someone else._

_He shook his head._

"_Right, Lee. Go get your coat. We'll go find Moira and get her to drive us to the clinic in Tooele as Dr McAllister is closed today and won't appreciate us knocking on his door," her voice showed that she was disgruntled, soup suds sticking to the apron she wore over her calf length skirt._

"_I don't need to see no doctor!" he said, feeling his throat clog with tears as he spoke. He felt dizzy and his heart was thumping in his head. His forehead was clammy and he remembered having a fever some months ago and it felt like this, but this was worse._

_Nana shook her head. "You're sick, Lee. We need to take you to see someone. Why you don't say when you're ill, I do not know," she said, almost to herself._

"_Because Grandfather doesn't like it when I complain," he said, under his breath._

_She heard though, she always did. "Then you don't say it when Grandfather's here, do you? Have some sense, boy." She looked away from him, out of the window. He'd seen her do that before, seen her know what Grandfather was doing to him. He looked away, not wanting to acknowledge her guilt._

_Sometimes that was more painful than what Grandfather did to him._

_He traipsed after her, pulling the door shut behind him and wincing at the pain in his lower back. He felt as if he was going to die, and he wondered if anyone would notice if he did._


	20. Chapter 20

_Thank you, as usual, for the reviews. I'm going to get up to date on replies on Sunday morning, but as of now, I'm trying to make some progress on Tuesday's chapter!!_

_Thank you to __**Chiroho**__ for the beta – you do a marvellous job! The inspection is now over and we got the outcome we wanted, so I should be back to the normal Tuesday, Thursday, Sunday routine, especially as the week after next is half term!! Yay!_

_You will hopefully get a oneshot in the next few days also, if you're interested!_

_Enjoy, and do let me know what you think!_

**Humanity**

"Is there no way out of the mind?"

- Sylvia Plath

**Chapter Twenty**

Chloe added the eggs one by one, stirring between each to create lightness in the mixture as the recipe indicated. Karl would be home soon, and he would appreciate a little home baking. He'd always liked her cakes and said that she didn't bake enough, so she hoped that this would appease him, especially if he'd had a hard day at work.

She added the flour, folding it into the mix and watching it thicken. It was therapeutic seeing the change in the texture and knowing what it would become in an hour's time. Spooning it carefully into the cake ring, she debated how to decorate it; she could use a coffee frosting or a chocolate one, and she felt that the coffee one would be more appropriate, more of an after dinner cake.

Smiling, she put the pan into the oven and set the timer. The oven could be rather temperamental at times, sometimes burning and other times undercooking, so it was as well to keep an eye on it. But she didn't want to keep opening the door, otherwise the cake would sink.

By the time Karl pushed open the apartment door, the cake had cooled and had been frosted. She'd also eaten her own dinner. His was being kept warm in the oven; the roast dinner slightly dry by now and the gravy congealed in the pan. She fell back against the side of the fridge in exasperation as his heavy feet pounded the wooden floor. He'd been to a bar, where he'd most likely been drinking whisky, and his mood was bad.

She could tell.

"And what you been doing all day?" he said, throwing his jacket across the chair on the other side of the kitchen. "Lazing around like usual?"

It had been her day off, a day she'd been owed, and she'd spent it cleaning the apartment, then cooking. She couldn't go anywhere, not after last night and the bruise he'd given her then. She couldn't be seen in public like that. He'd caught her on the side of her face, and created a mark that make up couldn't conceal. By tomorrow, because of all the creams she'd been using, it would be more manageable, but today it had been a mess.

"I've cleaned everywhere, changed the sheets, and made your favourite dinner. I also baked you a coffee cake," she said, in as light a tone as possible, not wanted to antagonise him by sounding sulky.

"Yeah? Pity you couldn't have cleaned yourself up while you've been at it, or has your other boyfriend been over here helping your hair get like that?" he said, sneering at her. He walked into the kitchen, his work boots filthy. She jumped involuntarily, and she could tell he sensed her fear.

"I've been home alone all day," she said. "You know that I wouldn't have anybody here. You know I wouldn't do that."

He gave her a look of contempt and she tried to put her arms around him, wanting to pacify him. "I've made you a lovely dinner," she said. "It's in the oven. I've already had mine as I was really hungry. It's the only thing I've eaten all day." She tried to smile.

He pushed her away from him and she stumbled slightly. She would have tried to leave the kitchen, but he was blocking the doorway and she knew he wouldn't let her past.

"And yet you're still fat. And you've burnt my dinner. Now that's not how you should behave, you lazy little bitch, is it?" he said, folding his arms.

She shook her head, feeling herself shake inside. She knew what was about to happen. If she was lucky, it'd mean a sick day tomorrow with no pay. If it was like last time, she could be making excuses at the E.R. again.

For a split second she thought of the officer who had been trying to help her: Derek Morgan. She'd seen him outside their apartment the night before, looking up at the window. She wondered why he cared.

"I don't know why I bother going out to work just so I can keep a roof over your head and food in your fat mouth. You don't appreciate it. You never do anything for me, do you bitch? I'm out at work while you're probably screwing half the neighbourhood. That doesn't sound right to me. Does it sound right to you? Does it?" He took a step closer to her with each word, and she edged away until her back was against the cold surface of the fridge door.

"Why don't you try some of the coffee cake I made you? I remembered how much you liked it. If you think it's okay, we could take some over to your mother's for her to try. She'd like that," Chloe heard her voice quivering with fear, and knew it would be adding fuel to his burning rage.

A large hand went up to her collar bone and pushed her hard against the fridge door, her head slamming back against it. "How the fuck would you know what my mother likes? What my mother would like is for me to get rid of you, you worthless piece of shit, and find a woman that I deserve."

She felt a fist smash into her stomach and wind her. As she gasped for breath, he put a hand across her mouth and rammed her head back hard against the fridge door. The sound it made seemed to come from elsewhere, from a TV maybe, and she felt herself begin to slide to the floor. He held her up, using his other hand to slam into her ribs and she instantly felt a stabbing pain, that didn't seem to lessen even when she realised she was losing consciousness.

When she opened her eyes she heard the sound of cutlery against crockery, and smelled roast potatoes and beef. The game was on in the background and as a wave of sickness hit her, she couldn't help but feel glad that he seemed to be enjoying his dinner.

* * *

It was the sound of birds that woke her; a hurried chirping that dragged her from a dreamless slumber into the strange silence of the house. Usually, first thing in the morning, she would be woken by her mother cleaning, vacuuming the staircase and landing; at one time that had included Amelia's own room, until she had fitted a lock on her door anyway.

This morning there was silence.

Amelia turned over, pulling the comforter over her ears and blocking out the noise from outside. She didn't mind the birds, but if she wasn't going to be woken up by her mother at the crack of dawn for a change, she'd rather not be woken early at all - by anything. Closing her eyes, she tried to empty her mind of thoughts, something that had been difficult since her grandfather had died. She'd been to visit him at least once a week, sometimes two or three times depending on school. He'd talked to her about everything and anything, telling her all about his life growing up, of his father and brothers and sisters, most of who had died themselves or just disappeared. He had been mournful about that, the ones of whom he'd lost track. At one point she'd made a pact with herself to try and track down his brother, Anthony, but life and school had gotten in the way, and now she found she wished for some of that time back so she could have helped her grandfather more.

She pulled the comforter back down, feeling hot and restless, and contemplated her mother's silence. They differed on many topics, the main one being how long Amelia could stay in bed, while her mother was up and about before the birds. Maybe she had gone out shopping; the local farmers' market was today, and it was something her mother liked to attend in her hunt for the perfect produce. The thought of freshly cured bacon made Amelia's mouth water and she stepped out of bed, pulling an old boyfriend's sweater on over her pyjamas.

The house was cold, and it seemed as if no one had turned the heat on that morning, which was another surprise. Her mother set the thermostat each night before heading to bed, altering the time at which it came on according to what they were doing that day. A wave of worry washed through her. A few nights ago her mother had drunk herself into oblivion, and had fallen asleep on the chair in the living room. It seemed that this would be a repeat.

Amelia wandered into the living room, finding it even more perfectly tidy than usual. Fresh flowers were at the window that Amelia were sure hadn't been there the day before. The cushions had been straightened, and her father's mail left in a tidy pile with a letter opener beside it.

A chill went through her. Something in the house didn't feel right, and she crossed her arms over her chest to subconsciously protect herself, leaving the room and opening doors to the others to see if she could find any hint as to where her mother might be.

She flicked the heat on, hearing the boiler fire up, and put the strange feeling down to just being cold. Then her stomach rumbled and she walked to the kitchen, hoping food might make her feel better. As she pushed the door open, she saw someone seated at the table, slumped forward. She walked in slowly, her heart pounding, the sight she saw not registering in her mind.

"Mom?" she said, the rest of the kitchen becoming a blur. "Mom?"

She stepped towards her, almost in a trance, and placed a hand on her shoulder. It was cold. Her mother didn't move.

Amelia saw stars and felt as if her head was a balloon, then felt a sudden rush of blood. Her face was wet with tears she didn't know she was shedding, and she moved backwards clumsily. Then she saw the two bottles that had contained her father's painkillers from when he'd had a bad back. He'd rejected the medicine, and Amelia's brain couldn't recall why at that moment.

Instead she stumbled for the phone, her vision impaired by the blurring of tears. Looking back through the recently dialled list, she found the number for Agent Rossi. He was police, or close to it, and she didn't want to speak to someone she'd never seen before. Her father was currently en route to Dubai on business, and wasn't due to land until that evening. She didn't know who else to call. Her heart felt as if it was going leave her chest and she could feel her stomach churn, a wave of nausea choking her.

"It's my mom," she said, once Agent Rossi had answered. "I think she's killed herself."

* * *

A local female police officer had made her sit down in the living room, but she couldn't make her stop the rocking that she had begun after being sick for the third time. It was as if the repetitive motion somehow quelled the reality of what was happening; that she could rock it all away. They'd told her that Agent Rossi and Agent Jareau were on their way, and would be there in a few minutes, but the words had merged together and become incomprehensible.

She sipped the water that had been given to her, its coolness numbing her throat, making it match the rest of her. The world no longer made sense. There was no logical order present. Amelia took in the tidiness of the room; dust free, everything in exactly the right place; even the picture that had been hanging crookedly for days had been straightened.

It was the first thing she said to Agent Rossi when he entered, that her mother must have spent most of the night cleaning and she didn't want anyone to make it messy. Agent Rossi sat down next to her and put an arm around her shoulders.

"You know that this isn't your fault, don't you?" he said, looking directly at her. His presence had stopped her from rocking and had slowed her heartbeat. She no longer felt as if she was going to boil over from the inside.

"I should have been nicer to her. Especially after the letter," she said, the words coming out one by one rather than smoothly.

Agent Rossi nodded. "We can always be nicer. Hindsight's a wonderful thing. Is there a friend we can call for you. We need to find somewhere for you to stay while everything here is sorted out." She knew what he was referring to; they would need to remove her mother from the kitchen, put her in a body bag and transport her to the morgue. Her mind cleared at the thought of the process and she began to pull herself together.

"He's killed another one, hasn't he? It's his fault she's done this," she said, looking at Agent Rossi with troubled eyes. "She's done this because of him, because she felt guilty. When are you going to find him?"

He stood up. "We hope soon, Amelia. As soon as we can."

Her gaze went to the window, outside onto the lawn. She saw herself with her mother, playing there as a little girl on a summer's day, remembering her mother smiling a genuine smile that had been warmer than the sun, and just as bright. But now she was left with a darkness she never thought she'd see.

A cold hand gripped her heart and she stood, walking from the room and away from the agent. Unlike her mother, she knew her parents, and she knew what her mother would have wanted her to do.

* * *

_September 1981_

_Tooele_

_Tooele County, Utah_

_The woman looked familiar, and Lee wondered if he'd seen her before somewhere. She was slim and had nice eyes. He hoped she could see well through them and recognize what others had failed to notice. He felt angry when he thought about that, thought about all the people he'd met who could have stopped it from happening. But what would they have done? Returned him to his mother? He'd rather be dead than go back to her._

_The teachers had never noticed because he always got good grades. They commented on his lack of friends, and his disinterest in the world around him, but they never seemed to wonder why; or if they did, they never considered the answer for long enough to do anything about it. And besides, his grandfather was such a pillar of the community, no one would ever think he was anything but a kind man who had taken in his wayward daughter's son and was bringing him up as his own._

"_Now, Lee," the nurse said, a cool hand touching his forehead. He jerked at the contact, not liking it. "What's been happening to you, hey?"_

_He looked at her, his eyes stony, and he wanted to know why she couldn't tell. Surely she, being a nurse and all that, should know exactly what was going on. She looked questioningly towards his nana and he looked at her in desperation._

"_He's running a temperature, Nurse Allen," his nana said. "He hasn't complained or whined and I practically had to drag him here."_

_The nurse nodded understandingly and he noted her name for the future._

"_Okay Lee. You need to tell me where it's been hurting," she said, crouching down so they were the same height. He looked towards Nana again, wondering what to say. If he told anyone about what Grandfather was doing to him, then would his nana get into trouble? He didn't want that. At the very least, Grandfather would be cross with her._

"_It doesn't hurt," he said defiantly. "I've just been outside too long." That was what his grandfather told him; that he spent too long outdoors playing, and God would punish him._

_Nana shook her head. "It's not that, Lee. And I'd rather you tell Nurse Allen here than have us go back to our doctor and have to drag him out because it's an emergency."_

_Lee gaped at her, open mouthed. She nodded. "It hurts when I pee," he said. "It stings. My back hurts too."_

_He couldn't understand why he felt better for just having said the words. _

_Nurse Allen nodded. "I think you might have a kidney infection," she said. "If you hang on here, I'll go get the doctor and he'll be able to give you some antibiotics. They'll start working right away. We'll need to find out how he got this infection," she looked at his nana. "Take some urine samples."_

"_If it's okay, we'll have our doctor do that," Nana said. "I think Lee'll be more comfortable, and we'll be able to get an appointment with him tomorrow."_

"_Sure," Nurse Allen said, looking at Lee with a question on her tongue that she never asked. "But get it followed up. If it keeps coming back it'll do him some serious damage in the long term."_

_Nana nodded and smiled. "We'll do that," she said. But Lee knew that she wouldn't. He wondered whether the nurse would contact his doctor, maybe write to him or phone. If she did, would it make any difference?_

_Did he want that difference?_

_He knew a worse life after all. But why him? Why couldn't he have had parents who were normal and would take him on vacation, and buy him clothes from shops instead of the thrift store? He looked at the nurse and thought about her family and the perfect life they would have._

"_Nana," he said, turning his back to the nurse. "Can we go home now?"_

* * *

Declan looked with some trepidation down the corridor. The annex was not a place they relished going, even during the middle of the day, or on a Sunday afternoon when all the visitors were there. He'd been there on nights when the elevators had moved up and down of their own accord; heard stories of people walking down the stairs who had passed away years ago, coming back looking for the loved one they'd left behind. A few nights ago he'd seen one of the fire door seemingly waft open and shut by itself. He'd told himself it was the air pressure, but it hadn't calmed his racing heart.

It had been three months since he'd stated at the care home, and he'd enjoyed it since he'd began. He wanted to be a nurse, but needed to save up the money to go to college, and this seemed to be an ideal way to do it; he enjoyed the role and liked the people he worked with. He also found the fact that he could make someone's life more bearable a good enough reason to do something that was low pay and long hours.

"You okay, Dec?" Rosalie's voice echoed along the corridor. She'd been grabbing a bundle of clean towels from one of the closets before they went to Dr McAllister's room.

"Fine," Declan said. "It just feels a bit weird, coming down here."

Rosalie nodded. "Most people feel the same; especially this early in the morning when it's not quite light. That's one of the reasons we always come down here in pairs, or even threes. There's just a grim feeling about the place, like someone's watching you."

As he nodded, he caught sight of a curtain moving even though there was no breeze, and a shiver went through him. It was as if you were under surveillance by something that wasn't quite human, by something malevolent. "Are we checking on the doctor first?" he said, nodding towards the door of the 90 year old man who still remained a gentleman. His age had given him frailty, but it had left him with his mind, and one of the highlights of Declan's mornings was chatting with him as he helped him to wash, hearing about his time in New Mexico and Texas, places Declan had never been.

"Sure," Rosalie said, heading for his door. "Why he likes getting up this early, I'll never know. When I'm old I'm going to take the opportunity to chill in the mornings!"

Declan smiled. He liked Rosalie. She was kind and caring, and a little nutty, which he thought was quite endearing. She was a single mom to a three year old girl called Isabel, and if she hadn't been seeing a mechanic named Jay, he probably would have asked her out.

"I guess he wants to make as much of the time he's got as possible," Declan said as she pushed open the door.

He could tell by the way she stiffened and stopped dead in her tracks that all was not well. His heart sank. He'd only had two deaths in the time he'd been working at the care home; one discovered by him, the other by his supervisor when they'd done their early morning checks. The residents were checked every two or three hours during the night, more if any issues were suspected.

"Rosalie?" he said, when she didn't enter the room, still frozen, a look on her face that he couldn't read. "Rose? What's happened?" He moved up behind her and looked in, a chill freezing his body as his mind wondered what monster had left a nightmare to come into this room.

* * *

_Please review. Pretty please with cherries on top..._


	21. Chapter 21

_Thank you for the reviews for the last chapter. I'm sneaking this up in between lessons as I have a parents' evening tonight so won't be home until late! I think I have caught up with review replies, apart from chapter 20, which I'll try to do in between appointments with parents!_

_Hope you enjoy, and thank you to __**Chiroho **__for the beta!_

**Humanity**

"Every time we choose safety, we reinforce fear."

- Cheri Huber

**Chapter Twenty-One**

"Spring Hill Nursing Home," JJ said. "It's about forty minutes drive from here. Local officers are there now." There was a chorus of clicks as seatbelts were fastened, the only noise in a cold morning's silence. A pale blue sky had been overhead, its colour washed with frost. In the distance there were yellow clouds that promised snow, and JJ wondered what her chances were of taking some personal time and going somewhere sunny for a few days, a place with a temperature that was above freezing. The thought almost warmed her and was only disrupted by the sound of Reid's stomach rumbling beside her. She would have smiled, but the reason for their destination had taken any humour away half an hour ago when they had received the call from Detective Barry that another elderly man had been murdered, and that it tallied with their victims. Breakfast had been abandoned, as had that last ten minutes of sleep, and now they all sat bleary eyed and exhausted in two vehicles, heading out to a place that really was the back end of beyond, and another crime scene that shouted out loud about the UnSub's control. He was still several steps ahead, and they were yet to even begin to catch 's cell rang and Penelope's voice rang out into the car. JJ noticed she sounded tired, and she wondered if she'd been up most of the night chasing information on Lee Ashley. "Hey," she said, without her usual boisterous greeting. "I've found a connection between Lee Ashley and this latest vic. Dr Gerrard McAllister would probably have been the childhood doctor for Lee Ashley when he lived in Willow Springs."

There was a second of silence while they processed that information, tired brains switching on and using the reserves that JJ knew everyone had, needed to have.

"Garcia, exactly what have you got on Lee Ashley?" Hotch said. There was something new in his voice, something that JJ hadn't heard before;, or if it wasn't something new, she hadn't heard it for a while, years perhaps.

"He was born in 1971 in Huntington, Emery County. His mother is a Leah Ashley – I'm running searches for her as we speak – and his father is a Graham Rothwell. He didn't seem to stick around, or I'm presuming he didn't as Leah Ashley had several convictions for prostitution and possession between 1974 and 1982. She served a prison sentence in 1981 for the former, but after '82, there's little on her that I've found so far," Garcia said, her words hurried.

The car slowed as Hotch braked for traffic lights, an old lady with a walking frame crossing the road. She eyed them almost accusingly, nearly making JJ feel like laughing.

"Any information on Ashley's medical records?" Hotch said, picking up speed once more.

"Nada," Garcia said. "I deduced the connection between him and the doctor because of where McAllister's practise was, and the fact that it was where Mulliner said he'd killed that poor woman. Here we go, cyber space does hold some information on Lee Ashley: he graduated high school in 1989 and went to John Brown University where he studied chemistry. This was paid for by his grandfather and grandmother whom he lived with from the age of six. I just love it when schools get the undergrads to upload all their old documents!"

"Any more, Garcia? Are his grandparents still alive?" Hotch said. JJ could see his eyes in the rear view mirror, and could guess at his thoughts.

"Not yet, but worry not. In less than two licks of a racoon's tongue I shall have more. Sayonara!" The line went dead and silence resumed, this time filled with thoughts rather than exhaustion.

"What's betting he was abused by his grandfather?" Emily said. JJ saw her looking at Hotch rather than out of the window, her stare telling. "And then it's like we said before – he's punishing the people he thought could have helped."

"If his degree was chemistry then there's a chance he would have gone on to pursue a career in pharmacy," Reid said, pushing his hair behind his ears. It was a habit he'd been developing for a few weeks and it was beginning to irritate JJ. "In which case he would have had access to insurers databases."

"Then why have all of his victims been in care homes or assisted living accommodation?" Emily said. "Surely not everyone who he regards as having failed him isn't living independently?"

JJ saw a child they were passing fall over and begin to cry. The sight made her think momentarily of Henry, and a pang for him flushed her chest. "Maybe he has a thing about care homes," she said. "He may see himself as doing them a favour by getting them out of there."

Another pause caused her to wonder if she had said something remarkably stupid. If so, she could just about blame it on her post-pregnancy brain.

"Then why such brutal attacks?" Reid said. "If he sees himself as an angel of mercy, then his method of murder would be much gentler."

"Confusion," Emily said as Hotch picked up speed. Rossi and Morgan were slightly ahead and it seemed Hotch was keen to catch up with them, arriving at the home at the same time. "He may have a dual motive. Punishing them, as well as putting them out of their misery."

"Which is why he didn't kill his first few victims," Hotch said. "He wanted to make them suffer, and wasn't concerned about ending their suffering. Something changed with Marjorie Heys that made him decide to kill her too. We need as much information on Lee Ashley and his background as possible. Once we've seen the crime scene, Prentiss and I will head over to Willow Springs. There will be people there who still remember him."

A shrill ring flooded the vehicle once again, Garcia's voice following. "The mistress of miracles has done her job," she said, and JJ could hear the smile she had on face right now. "Grandfather Ashley, otherwise known as Calvin Ashley, died in April 2007 in Mount Tucaro Care Home in Tooele County. He was receiving palliative care for lung cancer and, from his medical records, he did not have a pleasant last few months. His wife, Alicia Ashley, is still alive and living in Perry. I'm sending an address to you right now."

"Anything else on Lee himself?" Hotch said. "Last known address?"

"All of his bank accounts and credit cards were closed in November 2007. He withdrew everything, which was substantial, and I cannot find anything with his name since then. I suspect he's assumed a false identity and has been using cash. He would have had enough to live on for several years if he lived fairly modestly." Keystrokes could be heard in the background and JJ wondered, not for the first time, if Garcia did actually have two brains that could work simultaneously.

"Where did his money come from, Garcia?" Reid said, leaning forward into the space between Hotch and Emily.

"He was left nearly two hundred thousand dollars by his grandfather's brother, John Ashley, in 2002. He had already saved eight thousand dollars prior to receiving his inheritance. From what I can gather, he lived frugally, had no family, no addictions, and no property," she said. "He ended any investments he had, although I would suspect he took a false identity and reinvested. He had the money and brains to turn himself into whomever he chose."

"Any chance you can find out who that is Garcia?" Hotch said. JJ recognised a lilt to his voice that suggested optimism.

"It's going to take a while to do that, if it can be done. I'll get on it now. Over and out."

A few moments later and JJ saw the sign for Spring Hill Care Home, followed by a series of buildings interlinked by passageways with large windows, designed to let in as much light as possible. There were several police cars there already, as well as a van belonging to the crime scene techs. Hotch pulled up behind Rossi and JJ got out, surprisingly glad of the fresh air after being inside the car. Any hunger pains had subsided, the adrenaline of a break through fending them off.

Detective Barry walked towards them, his expression grim, and she was sure that he had more grey hair than he'd had yesterday. "It happened between three and six this morning," he said. "Dr McAllister was checked on at two-fifty AM according to Declan Milligan's records. When Declan and Rosalie Barnes went to wake him at just after six they found..." Detective Barry shrugged. "Well, you'll see what they found." He turned and walked back into the building, his shoulders sagging and his head angled downwards. JJ felt herself well with pity for the man, knowing how he must feel. The UnSub had broken out of his usual timeframe, which meant his behaviour was escalating and he would become harder in some ways to predict. Although they could predict that it was likely to get bloodier before it got better.

She hung back a little as they stepped inside –viewing the crime scenes was not part of her job description. It was at this point she felt relief that she was the media liaison officer and not a profiler, as she would be able to talk with the care home manager instead of go into the room where Dr McAllister had been.

Emily turned and gave her a wistful look as she walked away with Hotch, Rossi, Reid and Morgan, a conversation about the shortened length of time between attacks already in progress. JJ flickered a half smile her way, and felt a longing for an evening where no cases were on their mind, and maybe the two of them could kick Will out for the night and share a pizza and a bottle of wine, or several, without worrying about having to get up for work in the morning.

Exhaustion shuddered through her like an earthquake, and she fought hard to hold herself together as a sobbing care worker walked passed. The manager looked little better. Her face was freshly washed, and her eyes red rimmed. Her hair was dishevelled and JJ figured that she had been summoned into work whilst still asleep.

"Marnie Leamington?" JJ said, giving her the most sympathetic look she could etch onto her face right now. "I'm Jennifer Jareau. Can we go somewhere a little more private?"

Marnie nodded, gesturing behind the desk to a small office. "In here," she said. "I have a kettle and coffee, and could really do with a caffeine fix right about now."

JJ gave her another watery smile. "Coffee sounds great," she said, following her into the tidy room. It appeared to be a place where relatives of residents might come, judging by its cosiness and comfort. A leaflet on dealing with the loss of a loved one sat on the table.

Marnie moved it as soon as she saw JJ spot it. "I don't think I can handle seeing that today," she said. "Detective Barry sent one of his officers to Dr McAllister's son, to inform them of the news. I'm dreading the repercussions."

"Are you the owner as well as the manager?" JJ said, the kettle beginning to boil.

Marnie nodded. "It's mine and my husband's business. Both our parents needed caring for, so we used the money they had given us to buy this place and then it gradually became what it is today. I have three managers, but still like to keep involved," she looked at JJ. "My parents and Josh's passed away years ago now. We keep joking that we'll have to pay for a place here ourselves soon."

"So far the media aren't aware of what's happened," JJ said, "but that's unlikely to last for very long. I'll prepare a statement for you, because at the moment we need to do our utmost to protect the investigation, and that includes what we say to the media."

Marnie nodded. "Milk? Sugar?" she said, holding up both items.

"One sugar." Usually it was none, but she felt a little shaky having not yet had breakfast. The coffee was instant, but JJ didn't care. It was the first drink she'd had since waking up, and she was simply glad of its warm sweetness.

There was silence until two cups of coffee had been set down on the table, and Marnie had taken a seat facing JJ. "Dr McAllister was forthcoming about his life. He was compos mentis; still read the newspapers and listened to the radio. He talked about what was happening to the old folk who had been attacked, and he said to me just a week or so ago that he could see it being a patient of his from years ago."

"I laughed, and paid it little attention, Agent Jareau, putting it down to an old man's ramblings. He talked of being in Willow Springs and there being a boy there who hated everyone. Dr Mac said he'd always felt sorry for him, as his grandfather, who was the boy's guardian, was a beast of a man, and he suspected that there was abuse taking place. I asked him why he'd never reported it, and he'd said simply, 'How can you report something for which there is no proof?' I should have pressed him for more information, but his granddaughter was getting married and he was so excited that I forgot all about it. And now this," her gaze went to the open door.

"Did he mention a name?" JJ said, wondering if what they had was about to be triangulated.

Marnie nodded. "Lee, that's what he said the boy was called. It's an innocuous name. You think it could be him?"

"We have to look into all possibilities," JJ said, sipping at the coffee. Familiar footsteps made her ears prick up and Rossi peered into the room. She stood, knowing by the look on his face that something urgent had come up.

"JJ," he said. "I'm sorry to interrupt, but I've just had a phone call from Amelia James. We need to go."

* * *

Hotch watched with despair as the silver ring was taken from under the now deceased's pillow and placed in an evidence bag. The breakthrough they were making with Lee Ashley was being negated by his devolution. He was speeding up. If a hit list did exist, then Ashley was aware that time for him was running out. If Dr McAllister was the last on his list, then he could simply go to ground and remain free, change his identity, and move somewhere new.

"We need to get over to Willow Springs," he said to Emily, whose expression mirrored his. Morgan and Reid were outside, looking at the point of entry and assessing how the UnSub had managed to remain unseen.

Technically, now they had a name and details, they could go back to Quantico. The profiling job was done, but the killer was not yet caught, and their skills could be used to track him down. "The more we know about his background the better we can predict who he might be targeting next."

Emily nodded. "We need to speak with his grandmother as well. Perry's about a half hour drive from Willow Springs. We could head there after Willow Springs, and leave Morgan and Reid here."

For an instant he bristled at her suggestion, the brief thought that she might be using her relationship with him to influence how a case was run being quickly discarded by the knowledge that this was what she normally did, what Rossi did too, and he cursed his paranoia. "I agree," he said, casting her a quick glance to check that she hadn't read his thoughts. "This scene's very much the same as the others." If anything, it was slightly less awful. Dr McAllister's death had been swift, and there was less mutilation afterwards. Nor had he been raped.

"Maybe our UnSub had less reason to want to punish Dr McAllister," Emily said, her face lit up by the flash from the crime scene tech's camera. "It's possible that the letter his family will receive will shed some light onto why he wanted to do this to him."

"My only concern is that by the time we get the letter it may be too late for someone else," Hotch said, beginning to make his way out of the room and into the corridor. "Time is becoming more of the essence." Emily followed him out and he saw her shudder slightly, giving a quick glance around the light filled place. They were in the annex, a part of the home where several of the care workers refused to go alone, especially during the night, or in the early hours of the morning.

He was a sceptic about such things, but the atmosphere in this part of the building was one he didn't like. He put it down to the associations the annex had: death and loneliness, but there was some else there as well. However, now was not the time to consider such matters. "You okay?" he said to Emily.

She nodded, her eyes telling him that she was not. Without considering the gesture too much, he placed an arm around her waist knowing no one was around to see it. It was a stolen moment, but one that poured a little light into his soul.

Morgan and Reid were waiting for them in the reception, both looking grim. He understood how they were feeling. Only in the past twenty-four hours had they found a name for a suspect, and now he had broken his usual rules of time and taken another life. It was almost as if they were being taunted by him.

"Emily and I are going to head off to Willow Springs," Hotch said, feeling his cell beginning to vibrate in his pocket. He pulled it out. "Agent Hotchner." The line crackled as it had been doing recently. He made a mental note to get their cells replaced and to have the lines checked.

Detective Clegg sounded distant, and he could make out background noises that sounded like heavy traffic. She was in Salt Lake City, and it would now be rush hour.

When he hung up, he felt as dark as the reception had become now the sun was being blocked by a cloud. "Morgan, Reid," he said, putting his cell away. "Have Detective Barry get you back to Salt Lake City immediately. Marie Finlay's body has just been found in a dumpster four blocks from her apartment."

He saw the look of disgust and disappointment cross the faces of his team who were present, then dropped his eyes to the ground. He had given up many years of his life, his marriage, and precious time with his son for this cause, to find out how why another human would do such things.

He was still nowhere near finding an absolute truth.

* * *

Penelope Garcia was just about to place a last minute bid on a vintage monkey troll that reminded her of Agent Deraveaux who worked two floors up, when a familiar gurgling was heard from just outside her domain. She stood up excitedly, pushing her chair out of the way, and went to hold open the door for her unexpected visitor.

"Henry!" she said, crouching to give him a kiss. For a few more seconds she ignored his father, who was used to playing second fiddle to his son by now.

"Penelope," Will said, a note in his voice making her stand up, Henry now quite content to play with pink and silver hair accessory he had plucked from Garcia's head. "I need you to look at something."

She felt concern and apprehension rise inside her chest, and she gestured for him to enter her room, swiftly clicking a couple of keys to comply with the secrecy contract she'd signed.

"What is it? Is everything okay? Have you heard from JJ?" The questions poured out rapidly, her mind now in overdrive.

Will sat down on one of the office chairs, his expression confused. "I've received a letter," he said, opening the baby bag hanging on the back of Henry's stroller. "I haven't told JJ about it because she and the team are busy enough right now, and it's probably nothing, but I wanted your opinion." He handed her an envelope that had been torn open roughly.

Garcia looked at the front and noted that Will was the addressee. She pulled out paper that was standard, used in offices throughout the state, and read what had been printed on it. She raised a hand to her mouth and subdued a slight cry as its meaning became clear.

"I think it isit's an empty threat, Pen, and it's the first one that's been sent," Will said. "It came through the mail yesterday. I just wondered if any more had been sent to the rest of the team."

Shaking her head, and controlling the slight shake in her hand, she slipped the letter onto the scanner and uploaded it onto her system. "Have you told anyone about this?" she said, rather hurriedly.

"No. I read it last night when I got home from being out all day with Henry. It seems like a joke, rather than a serious threat," he said. "But I still couldn't sleep. I've not said anything to JJ, Pen. She's exhausted, and this would only cause her to worry."

Garcia thought quickly. Letters like this weren't uncommon. Unfortunately, psychos had fans, fans who wanted someone to blame for their perceived injustice, and would therefore send empty threats to the people that had helped put their 'hero' away. But all the threats were taken seriously and looked into, and she would pass this on to the relevant team, just as she had seen Hotch do, but without worrying her team. They needed to focus. When they returned home, that would be when they should know, unless Strauss deemed otherwise. "I'm going to give this to Agent Mansfield," Garcia said, feeling more assured than she had done a few seconds ago. "He looks into threats such as these. I'll ask him to have someone check on everyone's apartment, make sure that things are as they should be, and you just keep yourself and this little man safe."

Will nodded. "Thanks, Pen," he said. "Are you going to tell Hotch?"

She tipped her head to one side. "Maybe," she said. "I'll see what Agent Mansfield says." Feeling better, she crouched back down onto Henry's level and began to indulge herself in his giggles, managing to record one burst of laughter so she could play it back whenever she needed reassurance that there was still love in the world.

* * *

_Please send a review – it'll help get me through a tedious evening of telling parents exactly how their little Jimmy is doing!!_

_Sarah x_


	22. Chapter 22

_Thank you for the reviews. They have been a little low for a couple of chapters – it's weird; some chapters get a lot, and then the next will get half as many! I do, like every author, like reading them, and it's nice to be having so many people reading too. I'm not having one of those soft, fluffy moments..._

_There was an issue with line breaks on the last chapter – I tried around six times to fix it, but the site was having none of it. Sorry about that it the scene changes were a bit jolty!_

_Anyway, thank you, as always, to __**Chiroho**__, for the wonderful beta!!_

_Hope you enjoy..._

**Humanity**

"Crimes sometimes shock us too much; vices almost always too little."

- Augustus Hare

**Chapter Twenty-Two**

The half-light only made the alleyway seem greyer, rather than covering its blemishes. There were no shadows; instead the buildings left a hoariness that swamped the mess of dumpsters and trash cans, left there for a collection that had been delayed for a week already by a city workers' strike.

Reid found smells difficult. Overpowering perfume or aftershave would sometimes result in nausea, while pleasant smells could take him back in time to events he associated with them. The smell of a dumpster, with all of its decomposing elements, was not one he relished; his hypersensitivity did him no favours as he felt the colour drain from his face and noticed Morgan's amused glance.

"It's a good job you've never been a cop, kid," Morgan said, coming to a standstill half way down the alley. "I saw too many of these back in Chicago. I even went in some houses that smelt this bad too."

Reid stopped beside him, looking at the scene in front of them. Two crime scene officers were going through the contents of the dumpster; protective clothing minimising any risk of infection or disease. They also wore masks and Reid was envious of the fact that the smell, for them, would be minimised. "This is completely against his MO," he said, hoping that no one apart from Morgan could sense his discomfort. "She's not the age he's targeting, and the body has been dumped. It'll be interesting to see how she was killed."

"You think it's someone else?"

Reid shrugged. He was intrigued by this new twist in the tale, his mind wandering down the pathways it had created at speed. "James Savage is inextricably linked with this," he said. "It was the UnSub's supposed letters to him that suggested his sister was in danger."

"You analysed those letters, Reid, and you said you thought that they tallied with other letters from him. The style was the same, the language..."

"You don't need to quote me, Derek. I never said that the letters were definitely from the same person, just that it was likely. I certainly think that the letters describing the crimes were from the UnSub, but the one which threatened to hurt Melanie Savage could have been a very well forged piece of work. We have to bear in mind that James Savage makes a living through words – he would have those skills to mimic the UnSub's style." Reid stopped as the pathologist walked over to them. Marie's body was now in a body bag, awaiting transportation to the morgue. The pathologist looked almost disinterested at first, but when he drew closer, Reid could see that the expression was actually more melancholic.

"I'm Steven Causier," he said, pulling latex gloves from his hands. "I've been at another crime scene, so I was late getting here. Not that it would have made much difference. She's been dead around thirty to forty hours. Killed and then brought here. This was definitely not the primary crime scene."

"Any idea of cause of death?" Morgan said. Reid could tell the smell was starting to bother him.

Causier nodded. "She was bludgeoned to death with a heavy object. The back of her skull – well, the back of her skull isn't there, so that should tell you about the impact. Pure rage. I've seen similar before in battered wife cases. Eventually the husband or partner or whoever just snaps. Anyway, I'll get started on her first as I know there's a connection to your serial. The security guard will have to wait, but let's face it, he isn't going anywhere." He gave them a forced smile and walked towards the old red car that had been parked erratically at the entrance to the alley.

"We should see if there are any security cameras around here," Morgan said. "I'll get Garcia on it. I'll also ask Detective Clegg to bring in James Savage."

A woman Reid recognised from the station approached them, her uniform slightly askew. "Officer Thomas," she said, looking from him to Morgan. "I logged this as something for you to look at back at the station, but it wasn't passed on," she held out a pink, girlish diary contained in an evidence bag. "I'm Angela Thomas. I was in on the search of Marie's apartment."

Reid took the book and pulled it out of the bag, a cold wind blowing round them now that they had exited the sheltering walls of the alley. He wasn't sure if he preferred the smell or the coldness. He opened the diary at the last date and began to read the neat, precise writing.

"He's really reading that fast?" he heard Officer Thomas say, but he paid no attention to the comment. It was a common statement from most people who saw him read for the first time.

"And he'll remember every word," Morgan said.

Reid closed the book and began walking to the Suburban, no longer feeling the bite of the wind or the chill from the thick flakes of snow that were now falling from the yellow-grey sky. "We need to get James Savage into custody right away," he said. "He's been stalking Marie Finlay for weeks."

* * *

Good deeds would breed other good deeds, or so his mother had told him. It seemed that murder bred murder also. Hotch ended the call and looked along the driveway up which they were about to walk. He had hoped that Marie Finlay had simply taken a road trip to see friends, or been caught up in a new love affair. The latter was not totally incorrect; she had been caught up in a love affair, just not one she wanted to be in. "Morgan and Reid are on their way to Savage's apartment as we speak," he said. "I doubt he'll be there."

Emily nodded, pulling on a pair of purple leather gloves he hadn't seen before. "You think he just bounced off the contact with the UnSub?"

"It's likely. He saw someone getting away with murder and decided to try it himself. That seems the likely scenario," he heard her heels clicking as they walked to the door. A face appeared at the window, that of a small boy around Jack's age, and Hotch tried to manage a smile.

The door opened before they knocked, and a woman who had lost some of her slimness stood there, a pair of designer jeans and a warm, expensive looking sweater doing their best to persuade her that she was still as attractive as she used to be.

Hotch pulled out his ID, holding it up. "Gemma Lafayette? I'm Agent Aaron Hotchner and this is Agent Emily Prentiss. We're with the FBI, and we were wondering if we might ask you a few questions."

Gemma looked at them, puzzled but opening the door for them to come in. "Sure. I can't say I'm aware of how I can be of help, but as you're likely to be the only adult company I get until my husband gets home at eight from Milwaukee, I'm happy to have you."

Hotch nodded and saw Emily smile out of the corner of his eye. He would let her lead the questioning and explaining. The small baby in the Moses basket suggested that Gemma was probably missing the female company of her colleagues, and would welcome the chance to speak with someone she could connect with. She was a legal secretary in a big law firm based in Salt Lake City, and Lee Ashley's only known girlfriend in his eleven years in Willow Springs. An elderly woman in the post office had mentioned her, and luckily for them, she was still living in the same town she had grown up, even though her husband was from Washington State.

"Mrs Lafayette," Emily said, sitting down. The small boy had been told to go play in his room with his new train set and the baby was still asleep, the cleanliness of the clothes suggesting that a recent diaper change and winding session had taken place not so long ago. "We're here to ask a few questions about Lee Ashley, and have been led to believe that you dated him while you were both at high school." Emily raised her eyebrows, asking Gemma for confirmation.

Gemma nodded. "I was the only girl he ever showed any interest in, and I guess he intrigued me. He was so different. I was dating Ian Jones, the school quarterback, and he dumped me for this geeky girl who's only ambition seemed to be to go to Harvard or somewhere, so I decided to get revenge by dating Lee. It didn't work. Ian and Amber ended up going to Harvard together, and he wasn't in the least upset by what I did." She smiled, readjusting the baby blanket. "What's Lee done?"

Emily let the question hang in the air for a few seconds before answering. "You ask what he's done rather than if anything has happened to him. Why's that?"

Gemma shrugged. "Because I knew Lee better than anyone else at school, and I knew what he was capable of. He liked causing pain, and he even enjoyed experiencing pain himself. I remember him having toothache, and rather than go to a dentist, he just pulled it out. I had never seen anything so disgusting in my life, but it was spellbinding."

"What else do you remember of him?" Emily said. "Is there anything about his family in particular?"

"I knew his grandparents because they were local. I never liked his grandfather; he always seemed to be a bully towards Lee, although his grandmother – he called her 'Nana' – was nice enough. I was in a different church, so I didn't know them that well. My family were part of the LDS, while Lee's were the New Church of Saints and there was a bit of conflict between the two. I guess part of the reason I went out with him was to annoy my parents."

Emily smiled encouragingly. "How serious was your relationship with him?"

"Serious enough that I slept with him. I remember being surprised that I wasn't his first, but then he told me he'd been with prostitutes when he'd been to see his mother somewhere. It worried me that he wasn't clean so when we split I went and got myself checked out, but it was fine. He wasn't that interested in sex – it was just something he did because I think he thought we should. I think he could've taken or left it," she began to go a little red, and Hotch felt sympathy for her. Conversations like this were not easy, and she was doing her best to answer questions without prying about why they were asking them.

"Did Lee confide in you?" Emily said. "Were you his confidante?"

Gemma laughed. "No, Lee didn't ever talk about what was going on in his head. He wanted to know about what was going on in mine, but he never said anything about him. I think that was why I stayed with him for so long; he was attentive and interested, unlike Ian, who was only interested in how many times he could get it up in one night and if his hair was still gelled right afterwards." She glanced at Hotch. "Sorry – I forgot you were there."

Hotch shrugged. "I'd rather you did if it helps you to remember anything about Lee," he said.

"Why are you asking about him?" her tone had changed. This time it was worried, as if she was afraid to know the answer.

"He's a possible suspect in a murder enquiry," Emily said, leaning forward and pulling at the fingers of the purple gloves.

Gemma nodded slowly. "I assume it's a serial – you wouldn't be here if it was just a bar brawl, would you?"

Emily gave a slight nod. "How did the relationship end?" she said, one glove now off. Hotch studied her hands; slim fingers with nails that she kept short and unpolished. She liked to pick her nails, it was her habit, so to control it she stopped there from being anything to pick.

"He became obsessive and it began to irritate me," she said. "The novelty of the relationship with someone so odd had gone anyway, and I was interested in the linebacker who had just split up with the head cheerleader. I told him it was over and he took it well, or so I thought. Then weird things started to happen; my mail went missing, including an acceptance letter from Utah College; my bedroom window was open when I woke up a few times, and I was convinced that someone had been in my room; and my clothes started to go missing from outside. It didn't stop until I moved away to college – Washington State where I met my husband. When I moved back eight years ago after Jim became a partner at Hammersmith Weston, I checked that Lee had moved away before buying this place."

"Did he ever do anything to suggest that he held grudges against certain people? Teachers, possibly, and medical professionals?" Emily said. She was running the fingers of her other hand around a nail, and Hotch realised that she had chipped it and it was irritating her.

Gemma thought for a moment. "You know, I never did get that 'pregnancy brain' people talk about. My memory's stayed intact, thankfully, much to my husband's annoyance. Yes, he did mention a list of people he hated one night. He'd brought some cannabis for me to smoke, although he didn't touch it himself. I tried a drag and it made me choke, so that was the end of that, but he did drink. In the early hours of the morning he started going on about John Christy, who was the guidance councillor at our high school, and he said how much he'd like to end his suffering, even though he'd never ended Lee's. Then he mentioned Lena Saunders, who was his sixth grade teacher, and a nurse Alfie or Allen or something. He made it sound really reasonable why he hated them; that they were meant to be saints for helping people but they'd never helped him when they could've done. He never said how they could have helped, and I didn't ask. I think I was a bit bored by it to be honest."

"Mommy!" There was a slight tumble and the boy appeared clutching a toy train. "I'm hungry!"

Gemma stood and picked up her son, popping him on her knee. "How about a hot pork sandwich with apple sauce?" she said, then looked to Hotch and Emily. "Can I get the same for you? It's not quite lunch time yet, but it'll keep you going."

Hotch nodded. "That would be wonderful, thank you," he said. "And if you have any coffee..." he suddenly realised exactly how thirsty he was.

"Sure. It was rude of me not to have offered before. Come on, son number one, let's get these folk some sustenance." She stood up, placing the boy on the floor.

"What's sus-nance?" Hotch heard the boy say as they walked into the kitchen. A smile came to his lips, remembering Jack at the same age, and his ability to pick up on every new word, generally saying them incorrectly.

He looked over to Emily and saw her giving him a wistful smile. He knew she was reading his thoughts, realising his memories, and he gave her a quiet smile back. He appreciated how she could almost read his mind sometimes and for a second he felt something within him that he knew was rare.

The little boy's voice rang out once again, this time with a question about apple sauce, and another image of Jack came to mind. He wondered how easy it would be introducing Emily to Jack as something other than someone daddy worked with, and whether that actually needed to happen, whether there needed to be another label. He supposed that that would just confuse things. And then he wondered, as the little boy walked carefully back in, carrying the sugar bowl, whether Emily would want to play a role in Jack's life.

He stopped himself, freezing whatever emotion it was that was playing around inside his head, and pushed all thoughts of his personal life to one side. They had spent two nights together. That did not make a long term relationship.

Gemma returned bearing a platter with hot pork and apple sandwiches, and placed it on the coffee table in the centre of the room. Hotch felt his stomach rumble, and realised that he was, in fact, a little lightheaded from lack of food. By the time coffee was brought in, both he and Emily had cleared a sandwich each and the boy was halfway through one also.

"Hungry, hey?" Gemma said. "I guess you don't get much time to stop and grab lunch. What else can I tell you about Lee?" She picked up a sandwich herself, her eyes flickering to the Moses basket. "I have about half an hour until boy number two will wake up and demand to be fed."

"We really need a list of all the people he thought of as heroes who should have done something," Emily said. "Whoever he mentioned that night."

Gemma nodded. "He's the one who's been hurting these old people, isn't he? When I heard in the news about Janice Allen, the nurse, it rang a bell. Now you've had me think back it makes sense. He said she could have stopped what happened. To this day, I don't know what happened, but sometimes he'd mention that there had been some big thing that almost killed him. At the time, I thought he was making it up so he sounded more macho, but now I realise there must have been some truth in it." She pulled a thick slice of pork from the sandwich and chewed on it hungrily. "Let me eat this, and then I'll write you down a list as best I can remember."

She didn't rush with her food, clearly thinking as she did so. Her son was seated at her feet, a plate on his lap, enjoying his own food. He had a book next to him, and was looking at the pictures, quite contented.

"Would you mind looking after Daniel for five minutes while I do this?" Gemma said, putting her plate on the table. "I will remember better if I can have a bit of peace while I do it."

Hotch nodded. "I have a son who's a little older," he said. "In fact, he has the same book as Daniel has there." Putting aside his own plate, he sat down on the floor. "Hey, Danny, you want to tell me what that story's about?" he said to the child, and was rewarded by a large smile.

He felt Emily watching him as he listened to Daniel talk him through the story page by page. The quiet scene struck him as being completely contrary to the rest of their day; what had been and what he knew would be. Part of him felt agitated that he couldn't move swiftly on, that he couldn't have Gemma's list more quickly; but most of him felt a lapping of solace, the reinforcement of a child's innocence reminding him of why he fought the monsters he did.

"I think that was everyone he mentioned. Not just from that night, but if he ever said anything in passing," Gemma said, returning from the kitchen. "I don't know names for some, but I knew what roles they played. For others I only know a surname or a Christian name. I still wrote it down," she looked at him with tired eyes. "I'm not an unintelligent person, and I have read some things about psychology and a little about profiling, so this may be a stupid question; but is he likely to seek me out?"

Hotch shook his head. "It's doubtful," he said. "You don't fit what he's looking for, but I'd check your house is secure if your husband's away, and make sure you have someone you can call if you're worried. My card is on the table. Please call if you remember anything else, or you need some advice."

Gemma smiled, her eyes falling to Emily as she stood up. "You know, it's strange how Lee Ashley turned out. He was such a quiet boy, a weirdo; we all knew something wasn't quite right with him, but I never thought he'd do this. I guess you never can tell, can you, just how someone will end up." She gave them a smile that was lost in the lamenting of her eyes, and Hotch knew that once they had gone and the baby had been looked after, the tears would fall and she would cry for a boy that had never been.

"Thank you for your help, Mrs Lafayette," he said. "We will catch him."

"I know you will. You're good people," she said, walking with them to the door, Daniel still pretending to read the book to himself. "And I intend to make sure my boys grow up to be good people too."

The sun was losing its battle to the gathering clouds as they walked back down the driveway. Emily had pulled her purple gloves back on. Hotch rummaged in his pocket and pulled out a Swiss Army Knife that he knew contained a tool that could be used as a nail file.

"Here," he said, passing it to her.

She gave a soft laugh. "Always the boy scout," she said. "Always prepared."

He wondered if that was true, if he could always be prepared, or if there were some events that would only ever take you by surprise.

* * *

_February 1982_

_Willow Springs_

_Tooele County, Utah_

_It had been worse than usual. By now, he'd learnt to block it out, to go to the quarry in his mind and chase butterflies; Viceroys, California Sisters, Hackberry Emperors. Their colours became a rainbow over which he could climb and the darkness that surrounded him faded away._

_But tonight he hadn't been able to go to that place. A pair of eyes had stared at him from across the room, eyes whose whites were like glinting icebergs. He'd never met his grandfather's brother before. He'd been one of those mysteries, a name mentioned once in a while with no explanation given about who he was or where._

_Lee wished he'd remained a mystery, that he'd never seen the whites of those eyes spoiling his rainbow, that John Ashley was a figment of his imagination and not his grandfather's older brother._

_He buried his head under the duvet, blocking out the world around him and picturing the faces of all the people who could make it stop. People who would one day pay for not doing anything. He pictured his rainbow, the myriad of colours wrapping around their throats like a snake._

* * *

_Please review – and if you have a couple of minutes, there is still voting going on at the Live Journal Criminal Minds fanfic awards. I can't put links up here, but if you google ' LJ Criminal Minds fanfic awards' it's the top link._

_Hope y'all on the East Coast of the US are enjoying your snow days!_

_What's the weather like where you are – and __**Lily Moonlight, **__I know you're freezing!! _


	23. Chapter 23

_Thank you to **Chiroho** for the beta, and do check out his latest oneshot for some Valentine's fluff!_

_The reviews people left for the last chapter are very much appreciated Thank you to Dorito for the review also. Reviews have dwindled in the past week so I'm concerned people aren't liking the fic as much anymore. Please let me know – if anything's wrong, I'd like the opportunity to rectify it!_

**Humanity**

"A happy childhood can't be cured. Mine'll hang around my neck like a rainbow, that's all, instead of a noose."

- Hortense Callisher

**Chapter Twenty-Three**

Faint flecks of snow were bonding together on the asphalt to colour it white. The road was becoming a winter wonderland, with only the oranges of pumpkins a sign of the true season. JJ sank into the car seat, turning up the heat, and waited for Rossi to rejoin her. He was still talking with the mother of Amelia's friend, a local paediatrician and neighbour, who they had managed to get in touch with.

JJ looked at the teenager; she was leaning against the doorway, her eyes looking into nothing, the shock of what had happened finally hitting her. She was still in her pyjamas, a dressing gown wrapped tightly around her, yet she didn't seem to feel the cold as there was no shiver, just a pale acceptance.

"They've found a note," Rossi said, opening the car door and letting a gust of cold air eat at the warmth. "Mariah James left it in her jewellery box, along with legal documents and a will. She'd been to see her lawyer yesterday and had made everything as straightforward as possible for her husband to sort out."

"What did she say in her note?" JJ said, still looking at Amelia.

"It was what she didn't say that was interesting. She never said she was sorry. She just explained that she couldn't live with the guilt of what she had done and see her daughter's disappointment. Mariah James was being treated for depression, and had been for some time. Given the death of her father, this probably isn't that unexpected," Rossi said, rubbing his hands together to create warmth. "Unfortunately, her suicide won't end Amelia's disappointment."

JJ looked away from the girl, wishing she could go back to her and offer some support, but they hadn't the time and it wasn't her place. As they drove away, she saw the friend's mom walk over to Amelia and envelope her in a big hug, the teenager's cries loud enough to be heard even over the sound of the engine.

They journeyed in silence, neither having the motivation to speak. For every step they had taken going forward, the UnSub had sent them two steps back. The ramifications of his actions now infiltrating people that had never been his targets in the first place.

"Do you think people like the guy we're trying to catch ever think about the consequences of what they're doing?" JJ said as they passed the sign that announced they were now in Salt Lake City.

She saw Rossi shrug from the corner of her eye. "Some do, and it's what they get off on. Some don't because they haven't the capacity to, and others don't care. I think our guy falls into the last category. He's sociopathic , completely lacking the ability to empathise."

"How do you think this will end?"

His pause told her of his worry. "It depends on how far down his list he is. I'm not convinced he enjoys the kill on an animalistic level; it's far more mission-orientated. If we find him, then I suspect it'll end with suicide by cop, and I think it will be a dangerous situation for all involved."

She settled as much as she could into the silence once more, the white buildings of the city now having a familiarity to them that only made her want to return home where it was safe, and she could immerse herself in a comfort that was beginning to feel like a distant memory.

Rossi pulled into the parking bay outside the station and she got out, making her way inside. An officer she recognised as being the one who was talking with Morgan on the day they gave the profile was at the desk, arguing with a colleague. The argument stopped as JJ neared, and the officer's attention was placed on her instead.

"Agent Jareau?" she said. "I'm Officer Furmston. I just wondered if you knew where I could find Agent Morgan."

JJ looked at her quizzically. "He's gone to arrest a suspect," she said with some caution. "Is it to do with the case we're working on? If so, I can try to help you, or Agent Rossi is just behind me." As if following a cue, Rossi appeared, his cell phone in hand.

Officer Furmston shook her head. "No, it's something that happened the other night. We had a couple in here – they're in a lot as it's an abusive relationship. Agent Morgan helped deal with a situation that could have gone very badly. Anyway, the woman, Chloe, is in the Emergency Room of St Mark's as we speak, and she was asking for him as she was taken into surgery. Is it possible you could get in touch with him?"

JJ looked at Rossi, whose interest had now been drawn away from the message he'd received that JJ figured was from Jolene. "He's going to be busy for a good few hours yet," Rossi said, putting his phone back in his inside jacket pocket. "How critical is she?"

Officer Furmston bit her lips together. "It's not life or death. The surgery is on her hand. It looks like something heavy has been smashed into it, but she says she can't remember. Judging by the bruising on her face, I suspect that she was probably unconscious when it happened."

"And why is Agent Morgan so important?" Rossi said. JJ frowned, wondering where all this was going. It was rare for any of them to have time to be involved in any other cases, however informally.

The officer shrugged. "I really don't know. As far as I'm aware, the only time Chloe met Agent Morgan was the night when I was trying to persuade her to press charges against her boyfriend. I'm going over there in a couple of hours, once she's come round from the anaesthetic, and I'll find out exactly what's going on then."

"What's Chloe's last name?" Rossi said. "If he gets a moment, maybe he could call and ask to speak with her, if she's well enough."

JJ wondered exactly how long it had taken for Rossi to become this adept a liar. She knew exactly why he wanted more details on Chloe, and it wasn't so Morgan could pay his respects.

"Thomas," Officer Furmston said. "She'll be on ward K3."

"Thank you," Rossi nodded, and began to make his way down the winding corridors to their base.

JJ quickened her pace. "What do think's going on?" she asked, as soon as they were out of earshot. "Is this why Morgan's acting strangely?"

"It can't be," Rossi said. "He's been behaving oddly since the flight here, before he met Chloe. Unless he knew her beforehand – which I doubt."

"But that's why you have her surname, so Garcia can run a check on her?" JJ said. "You want me to call her?"

Rossi nodded. "If you would. I'm going to call Jolene and then grab a sandwich – you want your usual?"

JJ gave him a smile. It worried her that she had a 'usual' sandwich in this town already. Tonight would be their sixth night there, and she was wondering how many more nights it would be before they got home. "Thanks, Dave," she said, stepping into their room while he loitered outside.

Garcia answered even more quickly than she usually did, her words coming fast and a worried tone to her voice that automatically set JJ on edge. "Pen," she said. "Is everything okay?"

"Everything's fine, JJ. Nothing's wrong around here – all is tickety-boo."

JJ raised her eyebrows at the adjective. "I need to you dig some information up on a Chloe Thomas, resident of Salt Lake City, and currently in St Mark's Hospital. Can you send everything you get to me and Rossi?"

"How quick do you need it, sweet pea?" Garcia said. "I have to be out of my domain for an hour or so this afternoon, but I can find what you need before I go."

Now JJ was concerned. Garcia never went anywhere during working hours. Even on the rare days when she took a lunch break the furthest she got was two floors up where Kevin was based. "What's going on, Pen? Has something happened?"

"JJ," her name was said rather abruptly. "Please stop asking questions. I shall find your information and send it to you pronto. Over and out." The call was terminated, leaving JJ staring at her cell, wondering what the hell was going on.

* * *

Unsurprisingly, James Savage had called in sick, stating stress as the cause. Also unsurprising was the fact that he wasn't at home, which was an apartment that was manly in its tidiness - and now sporting a broken door, thanks to Morgan's footwork.

"This isn't the primary crime scene," Reid said, once they had finished their search through the six rooms. "There are no signs of a struggle, and no blood, unless he's done a remarkable job of tidying up, which is unlikely, given the general state of the place."

Morgan nodded, surveying the small living room once more. Nothing here was speaking to him. "He must have killed her somewhere safe, somewhere that was familiar to both of them," he said. "From what she wrote in her diary, James had been stalking and harassing Marie for months. There's no way she would have come here."

"She did say that there was going to be a Halloween party at Melanie's parents' cabin on the lake," Reid said. "She wrote in her diary three days ago that a boy called Marlon Schonfeld was going to be there, and she was hoping that something would come of their meeting."

Morgan looked at Reid, and then at Detective Clegg, who was quietly listening in with interest. "What if she went over to the cabin to drop some things off for the party, and James followed her there?"

"In which case, why bother to take her back towards her apartment? It would have been easier just to dump the body in the lake or surrounding forest," Reid said, clearly not buying Morgan's theory.

Detective Clegg cleared her throat gently. "The road off which her body was left is the one he would have taken to get from the lake to St Mark's. He may have been trying to save her."

Morgan looked at Reid. "Makes sense. Kill the woman you love, and then feel enormous guilt. He could have been enraged by something on the way there which caused him to dump the body." He looked at the detective. "Can you get the address for the cabin?"

"It's Blue Ridge Lodge, east side of the lake," Reid said. "Marie had jotted it down in her diary. Should take us forty minutes to get there."

Morgan nodded, all thoughts of Chloe and his aunt now out of his mind, focused on the hunt.

* * *

Perry could have been any suburb in any town in any state; there was nothing to distinguish it from anywhere else, and Emily wondered whether that was appealing or not. It hadn't taken them long to arrive at the address for Lee Ashley's grandmother, two straight roads and a few maze like streets, and now they were there. Emily wasn't sure what they were going to find.

Outside her house was a home health care agency car, the engine cold to the touch, and Emily thought back to the information Garcia had found on Alicia Ashley. She was ninety, living in warden-controlled accommodation, and had been hospitalised twice the past three months; once for pneumonia, and once for a broken ulna. There were no mental illnesses, and she had been living independently since her husband had died.

A gardener was pruning roses, although Emily wasn't sure if it was the correct time of year to do that. He stared at her and Hotch as they walked past, and she was sure she saw a little more force in how he used his secateurs.

They waited for a minute or so after knocking on the door, no noise or rustling coming from inside. Emily glanced at Hotch, wondering if anyone was actually in, but his expression remained steadfast, focused on their destination.

Eventually a woman in a white uniform opened it and gave them a quick, surprised smile. "Who are you?" she said, looking curiously at them.

"Agents Hotchner and Prentiss with the FBI. We'd like to speak with Mrs Ashley if that's possible," Hotch said, as they both showed their identification.

The woman smiled again, this time with a knowing look that was almost smug. "You can come in by all means, agents," she said. "And you can speak. But I don't know how much Alicia will be able to respond. She's failing, and I'm afraid it won't be long until the end."

Hotch nodded, and made his way in, Emily following. "Are you Mrs Ashley's nurse?" he said. Emily could tell he was deflated by the news of the woman's health.

She nodded. "I have been since she was discharged from hospital with pneumonia. She opted to have nursing care rather than being taken into a home, and as she could afford it, and had no descendants she wanted to leave it to... I guess it was her choice."

"You say she has no descendants she wanted to leave it to," Emily said. "Did she ever mention a grandson?"

The nurse sighed and looked at Emily with exasperation. "Yes – is it him you're looking for?"

Emily nodded. "We're trying to find out as much as we can about Lee."

"Then you've come to the wrong place," the nurse said, her tone now disinterested and distant, as if she had many other important tasks to carry out and they were taking up her time. "I haven't met him, and I don't think Alicia has seen him since her husband's funeral."

"Has she said anything to you about him in the past?" Hotch said, keeping his voice patient and low. Emily recognised his tactic; it was the same one he used with children who had been witnesses to crimes.

The nurse sighed and slumped down a little in the chair where she had sat. "She mentioned a few things. I don't think he got along with her husband very well, and he ended up making accusations when Calvin was sick that Alicia was horrified by. It was at that point they stopped talking. He came to the funeral, or so she told me, but said nothing to her, although I believe that he visited his grandfather in the care home where he was receiving palliative treatment. He was the pharmacist that the home used, and had taken it upon himself to drop off that week's medication," she raised her eyebrows. "Calvin didn't recognise him, and he died a few weeks later with Alicia beside him. It was the gentlest death he could have had."

The last line resonated with Emily as she thought of the deaths that Lee had inflicted since; they had been anything but gentle.

"Has Alicia had any contact with her daughter since you've known her?" Hotch said, again using that soft tone.

There was a nod. "Leah's visits her often. She doesn't live too far from here – it was part of the reason Alicia moved away from Willow Springs. Calvin and Leah were estranged, so as soon as he had died, Alicia contacted her. They don't have a strong bond – I don't think anyone could have a strong bond with Leah – but it's certainly made the past few months happier for Leah at least."

"Do you know her address?" Emily said, pulling off the purple gloves she had found at the bottom of her go bag. She suspected they were her mother's and she had packed them by mistake the last time she had stayed with her.

A sly glance was cast Emily's way before the nurse put her eyes back onto Hotch. "No, no I don't," she said. "And I can't tell you anymore about Lee either." She stood up, her actions jerky rather than smooth, not as Emily would have expected from a nurse.

"May we see Mrs Ashley, even if it's only briefly?" Hotch said, standing also.

The nurse nodded and began to lead them into the back room, which had been altered into a bedroom. A small, shrivelled woman lay in the single bed, her face as pale as the falling snow. Rasping noises sounded from her mouth as she breathed, and for a second her eyes opened then closed, as if the weight of lifting the lids was too much to bear.

Emily glanced at Hotch, who gave a brief nod. They had learnt far more than the nurse had told them.

"Thank you," Hotch said, going through the doorway back into the first room. "I didn't get your name -"

"Rachel," the nurse said. "Rachel Jacobs. I'm affiliated with Carmichael Hospital if you need to check my references."

"Did she recognise Leah when she saw her?" Hotch said, and Emily saw the woman's face change, the mask slipping briefly before being secured back on.

Nurse Jacobs shook her head. "No." She looked at them with harsh eyes. "I think you should go now. There's nothing more you can learn here."

Hotch nodded. "Thank you for your time."

The door slammed shut behind them like thunder echoing down the silent street, and they walked without speaking back to the car.

"She's a potential target, isn't she?" Emily said as she pulled on her seat belt. "The last one he'd blame is the first one who didn't act."

Hotch nodded. "I'll have the local PD run checks on the property on a regular basis. I'll also have Garcia start to run searches for a combination of those names – Jacob, Rachel and any derivatives." He sighed, and Emily wondered if he was thinking of his own uncle and how Leah had finally made peace with her mother, even though her mother would never know.

"There's another name we should check as well," Emily said as the engine started and the air inside began to warm up. "Gemma Lafayette's husband."

"Give Garcia a call, and have her get onto it as soon as possible. We need to head back and start preparing for a more detailed profile." His foot hit the accelerator and the indistinguishable scenery of Perry began to blur into a white haze.

* * *

A Ford registered to James Savage was parked outside the lake house, a dent in its left passenger door that looked fresh. Morgan had just finished speaking to Hotch as they pulled up, around a half mile from the house and under the cover of a copse of trees.

"We're good to go?" Reid said, noting Morgan's rather solemn expression.

Morgan nodded. "We have enough officers for backup. The house has two entrances; front and back. There are three rooms downstairs, and two bedrooms and a bathroom upstairs. No cellar. There may be modifications that we don't know about, but as long as we stick to protocol then it should be a clean arrest."

Reid let the expression from his face, maintaining a non-plussed air. He was becoming more used to this aspect of the job, the part that involved physicality and swiftness of movement. He'd never exactly been a jock, being too young and weedy, and even now, his thin frame was down to nervous energy rather than any form of exercise.

"I'm going to head in first with Detective Clegg, Officer Woods and Officer Dowd. You'll be behind with Silvers and Bowers," Morgan said, his voice authoritative and clear. The other officers had gathered round him, and further instructions were given to coordinate what they were doing, but Reid only paid a small amount of attention. Instead, his mind flicked through what might happen once they were inside.

"Reid? Reid?" He heard Morgan's voice pulling him back into the present. "We're just talking about Savage's state of mind when we get in there."

"He's likely to be feeling an immense amount of guilt. He will alternate between this and rage, at himself and at Marie, who he will blame. He will have no concern for others or his own life, and he could be aggressive to any sign of perceived danger." Reid looked to Morgan to continue. They had dealt with this scenario before.

Morgan looked around at the officers. "Savage is going to be aware of us entering as we can be sure he won't answer the door. We will have both exits covered. The windows are too small for him to try to escape through. It is likely that he will try to take someone down with him, and he is not going to come willingly. For several months he has been obsessed with Marie Finlay, and has been in a state of disbelief that she reciprocates the feelings. We believe he eventually killed her when she told him that she wasn't interested, and possibly had feelings for someone else, although he may have been planning her death for some time. Be aware of him, of where he might be, and where your fellow officers are." Morgan gave a nod and they began to walk through the trees, keeping in the shadows. Half of them broke away, heading towards the lake house from a different angle.

The crunch of the leaves underneath his feet reminded Reid of Calverville Point and the two cases blurred for a second. He was aware of his exhaustion at that moment, more so that he had ever been before, and he longed for a night in his own small apartment, followed by a leisurely morning of Star Trek episode hopping, and then a game of chess with whoever happened to be available. He unzipped his jacket slightly, letting the cold air wake him up, and hoped that the adrenaline would kick in before they entered the building.

It did. As they broached the front door Reid felt his heart begin to pound, his body producing chemicals that it had refined over thousands of years. Morgan knocked on the door, calling for Savage to open and trying to show some empathy. There was no answer, as they knew there wouldn't be.

Morgan knocked a second time. "We know you're in there James," he called. "I know you're feeling as guilty as hell right now, and you're missing Marie, but we need to get you out of there to some place safe. Open up, James, or we're going to have to come in."

Again, silence reigned, broken this time by the sole of Morgan's shoe hitting wood. The door sprung open and the first wave of officers and Morgan entered, clearing the front room. As they made their way into the back, Reid followed, checking the cabinets behind the sofa and then the pantry under the stairs as Morgan went to the second floor, his footsteps audible. The kitchen was empty, a few bags of chips and cans of beer sat on the counter for a party that was never going to happen. He saw the knife stand and noticed that one was missing; calling out that Savage could be armed.

There was no sign of their prey, and Reid began to wonder if they had been wrong, if he wasn't there after all, and instead they were wasting precious time. Morgan called for him to go upstairs and Reid left the three officers to finish the search which by now was routine. He stumbled slightly on the narrow steps, and found Morgan at the doorway to the master bedroom, his face grim.

"There's blood," he said, his tone ominous. "On the bed. There's rope too. It looks like he tied her up first and then raped her."

Reid stepped in, looking at the primary crime scene. "It makes no sense him not being here. He'd want to fabricate the memories, and being close to the last place she was would help him to do that."

Movement caught his eye, and he turned, looking at the oak panelled wardrobe behind Morgan. He had no time to find the words that were lost in his throat, instead throwing himself at his colleague and into the path of James Savage and the long knife he had noticed had been missing from the kitchen.

He felt pain and heard Morgan shout something, light falling back into the room with a loud thud. Then he felt his eyes close, and for a blissful moment he remembered what it was like to rest.

* * *

_Please review x_


	24. Chapter 24

_As usual, thank you for the reviews. I'm posting this before doing the replies as a migraine is on its way, so this may be the last time I look at a computer screen for today._

_Hope you enjoy!_

_Thank you to __**Chiroho**__ once again for the beta._

**Humanity**

"Hospitals are places that you have to stay in for a long time, even if you are a visitor. Time doesn't seem to pass in the same way in hospitals as it does in other places. Time seems to almost not exist in the same way as it does in other places."

- Pedro Almodovar

**Chapter Twenty-Four**

Her eyes took in the dark and light tones of the sky above, where so many shades of grey had never seemed to exist before. Some clouds were moving rapidly, as if they were being pulled along by some mysterious force, while other meandered slowly, taking their time.

The sky steadied her. Its expanse was calming, soothing; the softness of the greys diminishing the rate at which her pulse had been pounding. But standing outside the main entrance to St Mark's Hospital, the sky could only do so much. Hotch walked towards her, his face grim and his eyes as dark as she had ever seen them. There was anger bubbling underneath the calm surface, and she knew that if she went to touch him now, his body would respond negatively to her touch.

"He's already in surgery," Emily said. "They took him right in."

Hotch nodded, pacing into the hospital. "Where are the others?"

"There's a waiting room on the fourth floor. They're all there, apart from Morgan," she said. He was bubbling with anger now, and she wondered if there was any way in which she could diffuse it. But she didn't know him well enough yet, what his response would be.

"I need to see him," Hotch said, his tone short and caustic. It had been like this all the way to the hospital; tense, like the calm before a thunderstorm finally broke. She had texted a couple of messages to JJ, to warn her of Hotch's mood, and told her to get Morgan out of the way until Rossi had had a chance to weave some of his calming magic on their boss. Hotch could be the master of repressed emotion, but when his fire was well and truly lit he could burn like the flames of Hades.

But Morgan should have checked the wardrobes.

It was a rookie mistake. You clear the room. But he hadn't done it, and Reid was paying that price.

"You will," she said firmly. "But maybe right now isn't the best time."

He stopped in his tracks and she found herself facing him. For a moment she wondered if she was about to become the object of his wrath, that he was going to tell her it was none of her business to say to him when the right time was; but instead his eyes softened, some light coming back into them.

"No, you're right. It isn't," he nodded, looking at her. She didn't touch him, not sure whether that was what he wanted.

"Aaron," she said, using his first name, taking a small step into the personal. "We have two things we need to do: make sure Reid is better; then hunt down Lee Ashley. You can deal with Morgan later."

He shifted his eyes right, exhaling deeply, and acting on nothing but instincts she touched his arm with her hand; a brief, simple connection. He didn't shake it off, or flinch as she had imagined he would. Instead he let it rest there until both begin walking at the same time towards the elevator.

JJ was standing in the corridor outside the room when the elevator doors opened, her blonde head visible even from a hundred feet away. She turned to look at them, as if some finely tuned sense had told her that they were near. Emily threw her a weak smile, glancing at Hotch, and JJ nodded, the conversation not needing to be spoken.

"One of the nurses has just been to speak to us," she said as they got nearer. "He's been given blood; he lost a lot in the attack, but the paramedics were there quickly enough. He will be fine – they're just repairing the damage."

Emily felt the breath she had been holding since they had had that terrible phone call from Rossi leave her lungs, and for a moment she felt lightheaded and faint. She pulled herself into the waiting room, seeing Rossi sitting down by a low table, an untouched cup of coffee in front of him.

She collapsed into one of the chairs and held her head in her hands, any energy that was left within her escaping.

"He's going to be okay," Rossi said. "Reid's tougher than we all think." He didn't look at her, although Emily knew he wasn't lying.

"Dave, I don't think it's Reid I'm worried about," she said, knowing he would understand what she meant. "Where's he gone?"

"If by he, you mean Morgan, he has another connection here at the hospital and he's gone to see her," Rossi looked up now, something akin to exasperation in his eyes. "Chloe Thomas, aged twenty-seven, resident of Salt Lake City since the day she was born, and a victim of persistent spousal abuse. With no connection to Morgan whatsoever, and yet her being here moved him out of this petulant teenager zone into man possessed in the time it took his brain to process that she was here."

"Did he say anything about what happened at the lake house?" she said, not really taking in most of what Rossi had said.

Rossi shook his head. "He's only explained what happened in general terms," he looked up at her as Hotch entered, then his eyes flickered to Hotch. "You look like you've just swallowed a wasp."

Hotch nodded. "That's one way to put it. How long's Reid been in surgery?"

Rossi checked his watch. Emily noticed it was new; an Omega. Rossi liked his accessories; expensive ones anyway. "About twenty five minutes. How are you going to deal with this, Hotch?"

Hotch shrugged, and Emily noticed that even though he was still tense, he seemed calmer than before. "I think I'll wait until we're back home," he said. "Otherwise tempers could risk this investigation. Morgan's been preoccupied; we should have pre-emptied this happening."

Rossi raised his eyebrows. "I'm not sure we could. Morgan made it clear he could handle whatever it is that's been going on. You had to trust him to do that."

"Giving him that trust could've cost the life of one of our team," he said. "I should have intervened earlier, when we first got here." Emily could see that Hotch was retreating into blaming himself.

"We don't profile each other, Aaron. You couldn't predict what was going to happen," Rossi stood, JJ entering at the same time. "There's little point in us all being here. I suggest JJ and I wait to see Reid, and you and Emily go back to the station and see what else you can find on Ashley. It's only fifteen minutes away, and I'll call you when you need to come over."

There was sense in Rossi's words, but Emily wasn't sure if Hotch would see it. She waited, almost with bated breath for his response. Reid wasn't in a critical condition; the stab wounds had caused blood loss, but there was no major reason for panic. They would be more use at the station, in contact with Garcia, pinpointing where Lee was likely to be.

Hotch nodded, looking at Emily. "If that's alright with you?" he said quietly.

"It's fine," she stood up, catching JJ's eye. The crisis with Morgan seemed to have been averted for another time. "Give Reid our love when he comes round."

Hotch followed her out of the room, his footsteps lacking the fight they'd had before. A sense of defeat was settling in them, making each step to finding their killer harder than usual. Even though she couldn't see them yet, she knew that the clouds outside had grown darker and had stopped moving, their presence serving as a lowered ceiling and an impending sense of doom.

* * *

Hospitals had never bothered him, they had never instilled him with the fear that some people had. Nosocomephobia. Reid had told him the technical term once, a couple of years ago, when they had been to see a victim whose mother had been too afraid of the hospital to be able to go in and see her daughter.

It was always a daughter.

The statistics favoured males; victims were always more likely to be women or children, the ones who had less chance of defending themselves.

The pallor of her skin shocked him first. She was the same colour as the sheets she was wrapped in, an IV line still in place. Her face was bruised, one eye blackened, or on its way through the myriad of shades that would take it to black. As he entered he tried not to stare at her injuries, looking at her eyes instead and becoming incensed with the man that had done this, and himself for not resolving it sooner.

"Agent Morgan," Chloe whispered as he stepped towards the bed. "I'm glad you came."

"I got a message that you asked for me," he sat down on the chair next to the bed. "You are going to press charges this time, aren't you?" He didn't think she'd have any choice. The next time Karl could kill her.

Chloe sank into the pillow, looking away from him. "How can I?" she said. "How can I go anywhere? I have no friends because I lost those when they started to ask too many questions when I kept getting bruises. I have nowhere to go." Her eyes welled with tears, and Morgan fought the urge to wipe them away. "Karl is all I have. Without him I have nothing."

Morgan shook his head, wanting to punch something in frustration. He'd heard this before, heard it through closed doors and open windows with the Chicago air blowing the words around like dust. "There are places you can go. Places that will protect you. You have a job. In a month or two you could have your own place, new friends..."

"No," she interrupted. "I don't want to go."

Morgan nodded bitterly. "Then he'll kill you eventually."

"He won't."

"He almost has done already!" His eyes went to the injuries on her head and face, and she turned away, trying to hide them from him. "Chloe – I've seen this before. Don't let yourself become another victim. You can get out of this." He knew there was no point telling her she deserved more, she wouldn't believe it.

"And how are you an expert? You have a girlfriend that liked it a little too rough?" Sarcasm poured from her words, and for an instant he felt hurt.

"No," he said, shaking his head. "My aunt – her husband abused her for years. She'd come round to my mom's house and stay some nights, always saying she was going to leave."

"And did she?"

He waited, wondering how much to tell her. "No. She and my mom argued, and we didn't see her for two years, not even when my dad was killed. I was eleven when I went to her funeral. Her husband was charged, but walked free on a technicality. Every time I see someone like you, I see her, and I pray you won't end up like she did."

Chloe held his gaze for longer this time before looking away. He could see pain in her face that was caused by more than the physical injuries that had been inflicted. "I think you should go," she said, half into the pillow. "Karl will be coming to see me."

"The hospital won't let him in," Morgan said, standing. "The police are involved, Chloe. He won't be allowed near you."

"I told them that I interrupted a burglary," she said, turning back to Morgan. The tears that had been in her eyes had started to fall. "I don't want you to say anything."

Morgan shook his head. "I don't just have to, Chloe, I want to. You need to get out of this mess else you'll end up in a box just like my aunt, and you're worth more than that. Your life is worth more than that." He turned his back and began to walk away, ignoring her pleas. Halfway down the deserted corridor he turned to the wall and thumped it hard with his fist, feeling searing pain shoot up his arm before kicking the wall and cursing.

His fist throbbed, a reassuring pain making him focus on that rather than the thoughts that were running through his head. He made his way towards the entrance to the hospital, needing fresh air and a few minutes alone before he returned to JJ and Rossi to find out how Reid was. He knew he was in deep shit with Hotch for what had happened to Reid, for not clearing the room properly, but at that moment he couldn't find the motivation to care. He was failing in all aspects, and wasn't sure what the hell to do to get himself out of the darkness he'd become encapsulated in. Outside was cold, the sky darkening with cloud cover that promised snow, but he didn't care; he was too wound up, and had no idea how to regain his self-control.

The world of his own that he was immersed in stopped him from seeing the man lunging towards him and throwing him against the wall. He reacted strongly, his more powerful build recovering quickly, and he reversed their situation, finding himself staring into Karl's face, his nose now dripping blood onto the ground.

Morgan didn't hear the commotion around him; he didn't see Hotch and Prentiss step out of the hospital doors into the parking lot, or hear Emily call his name across the din. All he heard was Chloe's voice, asking him to not say anything and let the man whose face met with his fist go free.

The deafness seemed to last forever. Even when he felt an arm wrap around his upper body, pulling him away, he didn't hear anything, except the beating of his own heart pounding into his ears.

* * *

The sound of the man's head hitting brickwork almost made Emily recoil in shock. She heard shouting from both men, the words unclear but the gestures added meaning. Morgan took a fist to the side of his face that she knew must have hurt, but he showed no pain, instead using his forearm to pin the man to the wall once more, this time with the force she knew he was capable of, but had only seen when facing a suspect who was acutely dangerous.

"Now you know how it feels," she heard Morgan say. "To face this every night not knowing if you're going to live or die. You know, there's a special place in hell for people like you..."

Then Hotch intervened, yanking Morgan away and almost throwing him across to Emily, while he grabbed hold of the man. His face was the stoniest Emily had ever seen it, any emotion completely muted, but before she could give it any thought, she knew she had to deal with Morgan.

Emily bent down to where Morgan was semi-crouching, his body looking as if it was about to pounce, but his expression one of complete shock and disbelief. She put am arm around his shoulders, trying to pull his attention onto her, but his eyes were fixed on the man Hotch now restrained.

Footfalls fell rapidly from around the corner, security now on its way, and Emily glanced up to see a surveillance camera just above where they were standing. Fear flew through her, and she hoped that the man had accosted Morgan first.

"Derek," she said, pushing against his back with her fingers. "Derek, can you hear me?" It was as if he had gone deaf. "Derek?" This time he turned to her, and she saw pain in his eyes she didn't recognise.

"What the hell have I done?" he said, his voice too calm. "Emily, what the hell have I done?"

* * *

_Please leave a review – loads of people are reading this and have it on a alert so it would be nice to know what you think of it – added motivation for spending around five hours writing each chapter, but only 30 seconds to leave a short review!_

_And thank you to those people who are reviewing- you're stopping me from returning to my original novel, which I think is a good thing :) _

_Sarah x_


	25. Chapter 25

_Thank to the reviewers, inlcluding Ecda and Sussi! Thank you as always to __**Chiroho **__for the beta. Only five more chapters of this story left..._

_Some adult language in this chapter._

**Humanity**

"There are no mistakes. The events we bring upon ourselves, no matter how unpleasant, are necessary in order to learn what we need to learn; whatever steps we take, they're necessary to reach the places we've chosen to go."

- Richard Bach

**Chapter Twenty-Five**

The purple gloves stopped her from picking her fingers, a habit Emily fought the urge to turn to to as she watched Hotch pace round the room, Morgan seated at a table in its centre. Karl Hammond had been arrested, and was being left to stew in a cell until the morning, by which time he would have sobered up. Morgan, it seemed, had been given the benefit of the doubt for what had happened by the Salt Lake cops, but Hotch didn't look as if he would be taking such a light view of the events.

Emily wondered whether she ought to step into the room instead of watching through the window. Her presence, she knew, would be enough to calm Hotch slightly and possibly diffuse the situation. The shocked expression had left Morgan's face, and had instead been replaced with a sullen look, one she'd seen before on rare occasions when things hadn't gone Morgan's way.

Nothing had been said for more than five minutes; both men clearly considering how best to approach discussing what had happened, and so much had happened: the failure to follow basic procedure, followed by Morgan's altercation with a civilian. Emily closed her eyes for second, unable watch with anticipation and fear for what was likely to happen.

They were both alpha males, dominant and intelligent, and not as different from each other as they liked to believe. Both would be blaming themselves right now: Hotch for not intervening earlier; Morgan for not protecting Reid and any other officer who could have come into that room. Emily doubted that Morgan regretted holding Karl Hammond against the wall.

They'd caught the story from Officer Furmston on the way back to the station, and it had rung bells with Emily. There'd been an evening, a year or so ago, when she and Garcia had spent some time drinking wine and discussing anything that seemed relevant. Emily had just ended yet another meaningless relationship with someone she hadn't been interested in, and had needed her mind taken off the fact that she'd just wasted some evenings that could have been spent catching up on _Prison Break_ instead.

Morgan had been one of the topics they'd covered, the wine breaking down Garcia's confidentiality rule, and she had told Emily about his aunt who had been killed by an abusive husband the year after his father had died. Emily's retelling of that information to Hotch while Morgan was being interviewed by a Detective Bier had softened Hotch slightly, but it wasn't going to lessen the blows that Hotch was likely to verbally throw.

"I need an explanation, Agent Morgan, of why you didn't check an obvious hiding place for a suspect, thus endangering the life of another agent," Hotch said, his tone as cold as the snow that had lined the streets outside.

Emily could see that Morgan was refusing to make eye contact, trying to avoid confessing what had created this situation, and Hotch's posture became even tenser, were that possible. While Hotch could have more patience with an UnSub or a victim when needed, he wouldn't necessarily use his reserved of it for one of his team, and in this case, Emily thought it was justified.

Morgan's actions had jeopardised their case.

They were now two men down; Reid, although now out of surgery and recovering, would be kept in hospital for a good couple of days; Morgan was likely to be suspended pending an investigation into how Reid was stabbed three times by the very suspect they were trying to find. That left herself and Rossi to work the case, with Hotch joining them after sorting out the avalanche of politics that was now falling around his ears.

"Morgan," his voice was firm, but she recognised the breaking note. "I need an explanation of why you have failed to follow procedure, and then become engaged in a fracas with a member of the public. You've put all our necks on the line here, and I think we deserve to know what's been going on. You know that this team relies on trust, and you know I how much trust I place in you. I don't think you've reciprocated that trust. The past few days have shown how little you think of us, Derek."

Emily felt the cut of the words as they came out of Hotch's mouth. Hotch had hit Morgan's sore point, an issue that had been raised back in New York and had never been truly resolved. She waited for the return punch, but it was slow to come.

"This is nothing to do with the team and my job, Hotch. This was personal," Morgan said, sounding distant.

Hotch shook his head. "You made it to do with the team, Derek, when you became distracted from your job and put whatever personal issues you're having before the success of this investigation. When you put Reid's life at risk."

Morgan stood up. Emily found she had taken a deep breath and was holding it in. He pushed his chair away and stared at Hotch, his face warped by the thoughts that were going through his head. "I fucked up. I didn't check the wardrobes because I got caught up in finding the primary crime scene. If Reid hadn't knocked me out of the way, Savage would have taken me out completely. Suspend me; fire me – do whatever it is you need to do, but I am not about to spill my guts to you about my personal life."

Hotch's features could have been carved from stone, such was their hardness. He slammed his fist against the table, the suddenness of the violent sound making Emily jump. "Damn it, Morgan," he spat. Emily saw Morgan react to Hotch's loss of control, and for a second he looked unnerved, the reality of the situation breaking the shield he'd placed around himself. "Are you prepared to lose everything you have – 'cause I know what your job means to you – over some domestic violence case that we've seen dozens of times before?" Hotch shook his head. "Because that's where your head's been. If you want to give up everything you've worked for, give up the potential to save lives, to do what it is your were put here to do, then walk out of here now and don't bother coming back. Because if all it takes for you to throw everything away is one sorry upset in your screwed up personal life then I don't want you on my team." He walked out of the door and slammed it shut, casting Emily a glance as he paced away down the corridor, presumably to call Rossi.

Emily watched as Morgan sat back down, the wind sucked from his sails. He was cupping his head in his hands, his shoulders shaking, and Emily knew that he had just been broken. For a minute or two she was a voyeur, breaking that unspoken rule of never profiling their own, and then compassion calmed her and she entered the room.

She didn't sit down; she didn't want to interview him. Instead she stood behind him, steadying his shoulders with her hands. Saying nothing, she waited for the shakes to subside, and his hands to move away from his face.

"He told you to come in?" Morgan said. She felt the tension in his shoulders, but left her hands there as a reassurance, because right now that was what he needed.

"No, but he probably expected I would," she said truthfully. "Garcia told me about your aunt a while ago, but Hotch's right – we've seen these cases before and they've never caused this reaction in you."

Morgan nodded slowly, inhaling deeply for a few seconds before speaking. Collecting himself. "I felt low the night before we came here," he began. "I left where I was, with a girl, and decided I was going to end it – it was casual anyway. It had begun to feel meaningless." At any other point she would have mocked him for his realisation, but now was not the time. "On the way out of her apartment I saw a businessman knocking about his woman, who wasn't what you expect your typical victim to be, and it pissed me off that I couldn't do anything that wouldn't cause more trouble for her. I felt powerless. When I saw Karl having a go at Chloe when we got here, I guess I just wanted to do something to stop what I knew was going to happen."

Emily applied pressure to certain points on Morgan's shoulder, unknotting muscles. "This isn't because of what happened to your aunt, Derek. And it's not because of what you saw."

"I know," he said quickly. "I know what I've been doing. Trying to fix things other than what's in front of me. I'm a profiler too, you know."

Breaking their contact, she walked around the table and sat down, knowing that he was now ready to look at her, to return to the connection they'd had since the day she'd told him about Kurt Vonnegut. "I know why you kept your distance. It's difficult to have secrets in this unit. But some things can't be a secret, Morgan. You end up hurting people. That's why Hotch just acted like he did..."

"He had every right to, and he should transfer me off the team," Morgan interrupted. "I've put Reid's life in danger, man. You know how that feels?"

She said nothing, making no gesture. The question was rhetorical.

"I didn't trust the team to help me, Emily, because I didn't want them to see my weakness."

The statement hung in the air, loaded. She thought how Rossi would deal with it, how Reid would, and then trusted herself finally. "We all feel like that, Derek. None of us want to appear vulnerable, because we know that vulnerability can kill you in so many ways. But we all understand what this job does to you. You partition yourself off so you can survive, but then you end up feeling lonely because no one understands what you see every day and what you dream every night. You can lose yourself in a physical act, but it doesn't negate the hate and pain we see and live with. We need lightness, and sex doesn't always bring that. We need that mental connection too, and when we don't get it, we stop being who we are."

He looked away from her, ashamed. "I don't know what to do," he said, confessing.

"Start by talking to Hotch," Emily said, her forearms resting on the table. "Not now, not today. He needs time to calm down. But he will understand where you're coming from, Morgan."

"He's disappointed in me," Morgan said, the pain in his words telling of the thoughts that were currently circling in his mind. "I've let him down."

Emily nodded. She couldn't lie. "But at one time or another, we all let down the people we care about. It's human nature; we're flawed, and it's how we deal with those flaws that makes us who we are."

He left her words to settle in the ether, his eyes staring into the nothingness of the table. "I'm going to head back to the hotel," he said. "I need to sleep, or try to at least."

"I'll let Hotch know," she said, standing. "And I'll phone St Mark's and find out how Chloe's doing. At least Karl won't be able to get to her for a few days while she recovers."

"You think she'll ever leave him?" Morgan said, almost urgently.

Emily shrugged. "It's only Chloe who can make that decision."

"I know." There was defeat in his words. "Thanks, Emily."

She gave him a nod, leaving the room, wondering how this had happened and what would become of it all.

* * *

Rossi stared at the computer screen looking at Garcia's rather more garish than normal lipstick. He'd already adjusted the colour on the monitor, yet it still bothered his senses, and he'd not had enough whisky yet to numb them.

"Lee Ashley," she said, as if about to make a big announcement. "To all appearances dead. No trails anywhere. However, your goddess of all things unfathomable has worked her magic yet again." She stared at him from several thousand miles away, and Rossi longed for the days of phones rather than webcams. "Tell me again that Reid's okay."

"Garcia, I've already said this three times. They're keeping him in for a couple of days, but it won't be long before he's discharged. Nothing major was hit, and the wounds aren't deep. Just a small case of an artery being nicked. Now, tell me what you've got, so that when Hotch and Emily appear I can keep their minds of everything else that's happened today."

For a moment a strange look crossed her face, quickly replaced by a smile that he could only describe as odd. "Okay. Hotch mentioned that Lee's mother, Leah Ashley had changed her name to Rachel Jacobs, a name with quite a few biblical connotations. He also talked about Lee's first, and as far as we know only, girlfriend Gemma Lafayette, nee Gemma Romney. I assumed Lee would know about these name changes, so worked out some permutations, and lo and behold we had a winner with Jacob Lafayette. I can, given that I am a genius, link the two names together with a bank account that has no other activity other than a regular monthly withdrawal of three thousand dollars. It's taken out in cash from different branches in both Utah and Colorado around the tenth. I suspect he has another alias, and is probably practising under that. So..."

Rossi resisted a shudder as Garcia continued, wondering what her output of carbon dioxide was like.

"...I've pulled up a list of pharmacists in the two states, looking for anything that stands out. Any suggestions, as this list is a little like Kevin's Christmas list?"

Rossi thought for a second as Garcia look expectantly at him. "Look for obituaries and death records for pharmacists that died in 2005 or 2004, and see if they're still practising," he said finally. "I suspect that Lee Ashley will have taken on someone else's identity as it would have been the easiest thing to do."

"Gotcha," Garcia said, a figure entering her abode.

Rossi squinted at the screen. "Is that Agent Mansfield?" He wondered if another trip to the optician was in order; he was convinced he had an astigmatism.

"No, sir. Why would Agent Mansfield be in my office?" Garcia said, clearly lying. He needed to give her lessons in the art.

"Well, if you should see him, remind him he owes me a bottle of Laphroaig," he looked accusingly at the screen before flicking it off, knowing that if Garcia came up with anything else, she'd call him, a form of communication he much preferred.

Pulling out a neat moleskin notebook, Rossi began to log what details they knew of Lee Ashley. Finding him quickly was now of the utmost importance. It was likely that he would kill again within the next few days, needing to complete his mission. If they could identify an area where he might live and a house type, and a make and model of car, they could narrow down Garcia's list of names even further.

The door swung open and Rossi looked up to see Hotch enter, looking as if he was in need of a week spent asleep and the bottle of Laphroaig that Agent Mansfield should be providing. "I take it things didn't go well with Morgan," Rossi said.

Hotch nodded, not looking at him and grabbing a chair instead. "JJ still at the hospital?"

"She said she wants to stay with Reid a while longer. Then she's going to speak with Chloe. Savage has been charged with the murder of Marie Finlay, and the attempted murder of an FBI agent. We don't need to deal with that. I know he had contact with Lee Ashley, but there's nothing that we can learn from him that we can't get from the letters."

Hotch rubbed his eyes with his thumbs, then looked at Rossi. "I'm beat," he said. "But we need to deliver an updated profile on Lee Ashley tomorrow morning. What's Garcia found?"

Rossi recapped Garcia's information, leaving out his sighting of Agent Mansfield. If Rossi hadn't been seeing things, then he would guess that some sort of threat had been made to the team, or a member of the team. Hotch did not need to know about that right now. It could wait.

"He'll have picked a home similar to the one in which he lived with his grandparents," Hotch said, after a few minutes of thought. "And in a similar area, but not Willow Springs itself. If he's withdrawing cash from ATM's in Colorado, then we're looking at somewhere near the border. Somewhere near Jensen or Vernal."

"He's going to be attached to the house," Rossi said. "For him it will symbolise his success. As a child he was shipped from his mother's to his grandparents, so having a place that no one can take from him is important to him, and he will make every effort to get back there each night."

"And that," Emily said from behind them where she'd entered without either of them noticing, "means that it will have been bought rather than rented."

Rossi nodded. "He'll be withdrawing money each month to cover the mortgage payments and bills. Any money from his job will finance his lifestyle, although I expect him to have savings."

"And he'll have to work part time," Hotch said. "For him to have stalked his victims in the way that he has suggests that he has the time to do it."

"Or he could be a manager in a company, and therefore able to schedule meetings and visits to suit his needs," Emily said, sitting down. "Given his age and intelligence, it's likely that he is more than just a supermarket pharmacist."

"We have some parameters for a search," Rossi said, taking out his cell and hitting the speed dial key for Garcia. There was no answer. He hung up, looking at his colleagues with a puzzled expression. "She's not there."

Emily checked her watch. "It's eight-fifteen, and tonight's her shift at the help line. We know he's unlikely to kill in the next forty-eight hours. He needs time to instil fear into his victims by stalking them. We also have a list of possible targets, and have alerted the care homes they're in. I say we call it night and reconvene in the morning."

Rossi stood up, nodding. "I agree. It's been one hell of a day."

Hotch remained silent, stacking his papers. Rossi glanced at him, and saw him cast a glance at Emily. He decided to leave them to it, to return to his hotel room and call for room service, then give Jolene a call to find out how her sister was. It seemed like months since he had last seen her, when in fact it had been less than a week. '"Night, folks," he said. "Don't stay up too late." He walked out of the room, a cool breeze floating from the night into the station that seemed claustrophobic in its events.

* * *

_August 1988_

_Willow Springs_

_Tooele County, Utah_

_Lee shifted his weight from one foot to the other, waiting for the door to open and for Gemma to come out. He'd enjoyed what they'd done so far, as much as he'd enjoyed anything. He'd found he could control her reactions towards him, as long as he stayed in control of himself. She liked attention, someone taking an interest in her, and as long as he did that, she didn't seem to mind when he lost control of himself for a while, allowing her to see something of what he was really like._

_Her family were Mormons, but she was only too happy to be doing things she wasn't supposed to. Besides, she'd had sex before with that freak of an ex boyfriend, the one she was trying to get revenge on by going out with him. It didn't bother him that he was being used. In fact, he almost got off on the fact that she wasn't interested in him, in who he was or who he wasn't._

_He knew by now that he was different. Things didn't affect him the way they did other people. He didn't flinch when he saw violence, in fact he enjoyed it. It was a release. One that he thought he should celebrate in his own way._

_His fingers found the tablet he'd concealed in his pocket. They were a special gift for his Gemma, one that would make sure she was well rested in the morning. He smiled as she answered the door._

"_Hi," he said, smiling keenly._

_She gave him a smile back that told him something was wrong. "I'm not coming out tonight," she said. "In fact, Lee, I'm not going to see you again."_

_His heart started to pound rapidly in his chest, anger welling up. He wanted to kick her till she bled inside, till she screamed for mercy, but instead he nodded. "You want to finish it?"_

_She nodded. "I'm sorry. But – well, I guess there's no point in explaining it, as it won't make any difference."_

_He nodded slowly and walked away, hands in his pockets. He'd find someone else to give his little tablet treat to instead._

* * *

_Please review – the last few chapters are always a slog to write and encouragement will help – and motivate the muse to carry straight on with writing a third fic..._

_Sarah x_


	26. Chapter 26

_Thank you for the reviews! It's good to know that people are enjoying it. There's a little more focus on the team (and HP) in this chapter to satisfy one or two readers' interests, so I hope you enjoy. Thank you to Laura, Sussi and Miks for the reviews also!_

_Thank you to __**Chiroho**__ for being a brilliant beta. Seriously, he deserves a sainthood!_

**Humanity**

"We're never so vulnerable than when we trust someone - but paradoxically, if we cannot trust, neither can we find love or joy."

- Walter Anderson

**Chapter Twenty-Six**

A hubbub of noise in the distance stopped the silence from being overwhelming. Emily looked at Hotch with concern, knowing the pressure he was feeling right now and wondering what to say to alleviate it. There were no words that would provide an instant cure.

"Did you speak with Morgan?" Hotch said, looking at her with tired eyes. His skin appeared to be grey, more lined than usual and he looked older than his mid-forties.

Emily nodded, leaning back into the seat and wishing there was a dimmer switch for the overhead light. "He's confused and worried. He'll come and speak with you tomorrow," she said, not wanting to seem like she was condoning what he'd done. "He knows he's let everyone down."

Hotch looked away, his features tense once more. "Strauss has been questioning the effectiveness of this team since Gideon left. I hope Morgan realises that he's hurled us back under the spotlight." The words were harsh, and Emily felt for Morgan. There was no way he was going to be escaping from this lightly.

"He's beginning to get an idea of what he's done," she said, wondering how much of their conversation she should share. "I think the burn out we're all feeling has a lot to do with it. Maybe he needs to take some extended leave?"

Hotch stared at the table, picking up a pen and rolling it between his thumb and forefinger. "You're probably right," he said. "As soon as we get back I'll request that we're taken off rotation for seven days. We've had three difficult cases in the space of three weeks, and we need a break. Morgan may have to take longer while internal affairs investigate what happened, although I don't expect that will take more than a few days."

"Will he face a disciplinary hearing?" she said, already knowing the answer. It was procedure – there was no way he wouldn't.

"He'll have to, Emily, and he should. He made a rookie mistake, and he shouldn't have. It'll go into his permanent record, but as he's had no other formal warnings, the most likely result is that his conduct will be scrutinised for six or twelve months. He'll just have to keep his nose clean for that period," Hotch said, standing up. "I know Rossi's right, and we should have an early night, but I really could do with a drink. Do you want to head to the bar across the street?" His expression was soft as he looked at her, and something in her chest jolted. She felt needed for a moment, and wondered if she was misinterpreting the look.

"Sure," she said, standing. "I don't think I'd be able to sleep at the moment anyway. A drink sounds good." There was no allusion as to where they'd be sleeping that night, if it would be together or apart. Things felt different between them; the unusual events of the day had altered how they could be together, placing a professional boundary between them, andshe no longer knew where they stood.

They walked out of the station and across the street to the Amber Note Cafe Bar in a silence that was neither awkward nor companionable. Emily felt as if she had emerged in some sort of limbo. Morgan could well have jeopardised more than just Strauss' faith in the team and in Hotch as its leader; if they were going to end up under scrutiny as a whole, than it could be dangerous for her and Hotch to continue their relationship. Now, however, did not seem like the time to mention it. He had other things on his mind.

She ordered a gin and tonic with extra lime, and was pleased to see the bartender squeeze a lime slice around the rim of the glass before serving it. The taste was refreshing rather than sweet, lacking the heaviness of wine or the density of beer. Hotch had opted for a whisky, downing the first quickly, and then choosing a more expensive malt afterwards, savouring the taste.

"My father drank whisky," he said, rather out of the blue. Miles Davies began to play in the background, immediately changing the atmosphere to a sultry blue. Emily relaxed back into the leather seat and let him continue, a little surprised at his chosen topic of conversation. "I avoided it for a long time, as I didn't want to be like him, but then I was subjected to a late night at Rossi's house shortly after I joined the BAU, and developed a taste for it."

"My mom has always been a gin drinker," she said, exchanging insights. "I remember trying to get drunk on it just after I found out I was pregnant when I was fifteen. I'd read somewhere that drinking gin could induce a miscarriage."

His eyes were now a soft black, and she got the feeling that he wanted to reach across and touch her, but was afraid to. "You have no negative connotations with drinking it now?"

She shook her head. "No. I did the right thing back then, Hotch, and I've never regretted it. I did avoid gin for a while – I do think it's more of a grown up drink, a bit like whisky – something you develop a taste for with age."

He gave her a half smile. "I guess that can be said for a lot of things. I never quite liked the taste of beer either, until I was about twenty-one."

She gave a quiet laugh at his confession. "Somehow, I can't imagine you drinking beer as a teenager anyway, Hotch. You would have been far too serious!"

He looked downw, nodding with emphatic sadness. "It's what life makes you, and what you make of it," he said. He paused, as if what he was going to say next would change the path of fate. "I'm going to go see my uncle as soon as we've caught Lee Ashley."

"Oh," she said, unsure of what to say. "What helped make your decision?"

Hotch sipped the malt, looking into the glass of amber liquid, as if seeing the answers to the universe written there. "It's a door that needs closing," he said, putting the glass down.

"And you can show him how you turned out," she said. "Show him that you didn't need his help after all."

"Maybe," he said, looking at her across the table. Miles Davies continued to play; the soft notes of the trumpet soothing the sounds of the night time. "Would you come with me?"

Her lips parted, but no words left her mouth. Hotch was as independent as she was, self-reliant and private when dealing with personal issues. She didn't understand why he would want her to be there, not yet, not this soon. "If you want me to, I will. But I'm curious as to why you'd like me there."

He took another sip of his drink, and she was reminded of hers. Her lips tingled as they touched the lime around the rim, giving a bite that was fruity yet subtle. "Because I don't want to become as insular as Morgan has been lately. I'm aware of what I'm like, Emily. I don't talk much, but I don't want my past to consume me."

She gave a brief nod. "I'd be happy to come, Aaron," she said. "Although I think you'd be best talking to your uncle alone."

"I don't expect it to be a long conversation. I think the occasion for that passed a long time ago," he finished the rest of the malt. "Is Morgan okay?"

She'd wondered when he was going to ask. "As much as he can be. He's going to be beating himself up over what happened for a while to come."

"I can identify with that," Hotch said, gesturing to the bar tender for two more drinks.

"No," she said, placing her now empty glass down on the table. "Not just you. I know you're the boss, Aaron, but we have a collective responsibility to each other, and at some point over the last five or six days we've all asked him how he's doing. He's never wanted to respond. What happened, ultimately, has to come down to him and how he dealt with what he was going through."

The bartender brought the drinks over, giving Emily a brief smile as he took them off the tray and placed them on the table. Hotch waited until he had removed the empties before continuing the conversation. "I should have sent him home two days ago when I realised he wasn't coping. It shouldn't have got this far."

"Maybe you should," she said, refusing to join him in this pity party he liked to indulge in sometimes. "But you didn't, and now we have to move on from what happened and help him in the best way we can. You know this happens to us all. Our personal lives become entwined with a case, and we can't separate it because we're too emotionally strung out to compartmentalise. That's what's happened here." She took a sip of the drink and wrinkled her nose in puzzlement. "That's strong. It tastes more like a double."

"That's because the bartender is trying to get you drunk so he has a chance at seducing you. He keeps glancing over every few minutes and looking hopeful," Hotch said without so much as a blink.

"He looks about half my age," she said, almost disgusted.

Hotch gave a swift glance towards her admirer. "I'd say he's more like twenty five, and the last time I checked, you're not fifty for another thirteen years."

Her face softened into a smile. She waited, feeling a little awkward. "So I take it you're not jealous or concerned about the competition?" It was a gamble, bringing up their relationship at that moment, and she couldn't predict what his reaction would be. The fact he'd asked her to accompany him to the care home hinted that it might be favourable, but she wasn't one to be over-confident.

Hotch gave him a second glance, this one more analytical. "I've got forty pounds and fifteen years of fighting experience on him. I don't see him being a problem."

Emily was half shocked at his response, tipping back her head and laughing loudly. She hadn't thought he would be possessive, even in a jocular manner as he was now. "That tells me a great deal about you, Agent Hotchner," she said when her laughs had subsided.

He gave her a mock glare. "It's a side I like to keep under wraps," he laughed sardonically, sipping the whisky. "I should be in my room now, dealing with emails from Strauss."

She shook her head. "Deal with that tomorrow, or when we get back. It's not going to disappear."

"Unfortunately." He looked tense again, swirling the ice around in his glass. "I should deal with some of the paperwork though, otherwise it's just going to build up and be unmanageable."

She drained the last of the gin and tonic, the ice cubes hitting her teeth and tickling their sensitivity. "I'll walk back over with you," she said. "Wouldn't want to raise Mr Bartender's hopes."

Hotch nodded without smiling, his thoughts now elsewhere, and Emily returned to that nowhere place, unsure exactly of where they stood. She wanted to spend the night with him, not for the sex, although that would not be a bad thing, but for his presence. She was used to sleeping alone, having left the beds of lovers in the early hours of the morning, preferring to wake by herself, but it had felt different waking with him, knowing that he understood what her thoughts would be and how she worked.

They walked back in silence for most of the way, exchanging only a few words about Lee Ashley and the morning's profile. Hotch hung back as they reached her hotel room, clearly wanting to say something.

She braced herself, wondering if he was about to tell her that they needed to put this on hold, to wait until everything Morgan disturbed had settled.

"I'm going to be up late," he said. "Shall I come by when I've finished, or would you rather I let you sleep?"

His words were soft, muted, but they raised a fire inside of her. "I'll be up," she said. "I'm going to do a little research on Ashley myself, and then I might treat myself to a few pages of a good book."

He nodded, and she realised how close they were standing; closer than colleagues would be. "Anything interesting?"

She smiled, wondering whether or not to lie. She went for the truth and risked the ridicule. "_Delving into the Depths._"

Hotch laughed. "Really? Does Rossi know?"

"I had him sign it for me. You should read the dedication," she said, knowing her inner nerd had been revealed once again. "I'll see you later."

There was a nod, his eyes softened. "Thank you," he said. She looked at him curiously. "For not running off with the bartender."

* * *

It was a view he'd become accustomed to over the past few nights. His window looked out over the city to the mountains; mountains that stood much bigger than he ever would, and their size humbled him. Right now, he needed to feel humbled. He'd screwed up in more ways than one, and had no one to blame but himself.

Letting the curtains fall closed, he sat down on his bed and, with his elbows on his knees, rested his head in his hands. After leaving the station he'd taken a walk around the city, avoiding Chloe's apartment and staying where it was populated and busy. A few Halloween parties had been happening, and he'd been faced with costumes of horror film villains and masked revellers; people who would never understand the psyche of those they were pretending to be.

Now the room felt claustrophobic, and he wished he was back home in his apartment where he'd taken down all the walls he could, making it as open plan as possible. He knew he'd be taking leave as soon as they got back, whether he liked it or not. It would be enforced while an investigation into Reid's stabbing took place, and Hotch would recommend it anyway. He'd be lucky if Hotch kept him on the team.

Morgan lay back on the bed with some force, listening to the silence that came from the room next door.

It was where Reid should have been.

A tidal wave of guilt drowned him and wetness pricked at his eyes. He fought the tears, but found he couldn't stop them falling, rivulets trailing over the contours of his screwed up face as his body shook noiselessly. This was what rock bottom felt like.

He loved Reid. As much as he would annoy and irritate him, he missed him when he wasn't at work and had taken the odd day off; and he felt protective towards him, even though he knew Reid could look after himself, even though he appeared too thin and gangly to win a round with a wet paper bag.

And Reid had saved him.

When the wardrobe door had opened, when James Savage had come spewing out with the kitchen knife in hand, it had been Morgan he was aiming for. Reid had pushed Morgan to one side, taking the blade instead. Morgan had hurt him twice.

His body stilled, the salt of the tears on his lips. Morgan sat up, pulling off his shoes and tossed them over towards his suitcase. He undid the buckle of his belt, pulling off his jeans and socks, and then his t-shirt. The bed felt the most comfortable it had in all the nights he'd slept in it, the anonymity of the room suddenly a blessing. He tangled himself up in the sheets, feeling his eyes grow heavy with the tears that had been shed, and he let himself be taken into the arms of the sandman and carried away into a blessed, dreamless sleep that is only given to those who have finally looked at themselves and accepted the truth.

* * *

"Hi, my name's Penny. How are you this evening?"

There was deep breathing on the other end of the line and Penelope Garcia looked to the heavens and prayed that it wouldn't be another one of those. She was four calls into what was going to be a long shift, and as much as she loved what she did and how she could help the families of the victims, today had already been a difficult day.

"I'm okay, Penny. How are you?" It was a man's voice and it sounded assured and confident, which was unusual given what the helpline was for.

"I'm fine," she said, trying to sound reassuring. Maybe the man was just putting on a brave face. She'd had a few that started out confident and collapsed as the conversation progressed. "Is there anything you'd like to talk about?"

"There are plenty of things, Penny," he said. "But I'd like to start with you. Are you really fine?"

A shudder went through her and she glanced at her supervisor, Amy, who was preoccupied with another call. She couldn't hang up. Sometimes people needed to know more about who they were talking to before they felt confident to discuss their anxieties. "Well, it's been a long day and a difficult one, but it makes me feel better knowing that maybe by the end of it I might have been able to help someone."

"That's nice, Penny. Why has your day been difficult? Do you want to talk about it, Penny?" his tone was smooth, but there was a hidden edge to it that sent shivers down her spine.

"I'd rather talk about your day. How's that been?" she said, moving the focus of the conversation from her. If he continued to be weird, then she would refer him to a male counsellor and terminate the call.

There was what sound like a muted laugh. "It's been good. In fact on a scale of one to ten I'd say it's been a seven, but it's going to get better this evening." This time the laugh was clear and loud. "Much better, in fact. I'm going to be proactive in getting over my grief."

Grief, he'd mentioned a key word. Maybe he was just finding it difficult to connect with her and begin talking. "You know, sir," she said. "Maybe you'd feel more comfortable talking to one of my male colleagues. I'll see if David's available." She heard the nerves enter her own voice and queried their presence.

"You know, Penny, I'd rather talk to you. You see, you're the reason I called tonight. I wanted to speak to you, Penelope. Why aren't you having a Halloween party? You did last year."

She felt the blood drain from her face. He was right. Last year she'd had most of the team over, bar Hotch and Morgan, and a few other friends for pumpkin pie and scary movies. Even Rossi had been there. But it hadn't been a social event, like something that was reported on the internet or mentioned around headquarters. "I'm sorry, Sir, but I'm not comfortable taking this call," she said, following the script word for word. "I'm going to have to terminate it." She pressed a button and heard a dial tone just above the sound of her rapidly beating heart.

Standing up she pulled the headset off, a few tendrils of hair coming loose, and she made her way out of the room, wondering exactly who she should call, given that Agent Mansfield was on holiday and she had been told not to say anything to the team until they returned from Utah.

* * *

It was sometime after midnight when Hotch found himself outside Emily's door, knocking gently. He didn't want to wake her if she'd fallen asleep, although he doubted that she had. Soft footfalls sounded, and the door clicked open as she unlocked it. Her hair was mussed and her face make up free, freshly washed. A hotel dressing gown was pulled around her, the white towelling robe drowning her curves, and she looked sleepy.

"Did I wake you?" he said, hoping that the answer would be negative so he could ease his guilt.

She shook her head. "No. I _was_ dozing off, but just about keeping my eyes open." She stepped to the side so he could enter, then locked the door behind him.

"You want a coffee?" she said, pulling her hair back from her face. "Or tea? I found some tea bags."

He smiled slightly, sitting down on the side of her bed. "I've just had a cup, and I really shouldn't have any more caffeine today. I've got a feeling that tomorrow's going to be hell."

Emily sat next to him, the dressing gown coming open at the top, enabling him to see the black slip she was wearing underneath. He'd thought he would have been too tired and too preoccupied to be affected by the thought of what was there, but it turned out that he was wrong. "I'm ready for sleep," Emily said, and he realised she was reassuring him that she expected nothing from him that night. "I don't think I'm physically capable of inhaling even coffee, so it's a good thing you don't want one."

He gave a discreet nod, untying his laces and pushing them under the bed so neither of them would trip over them during the night. She stood up, untying the dressing gown, and for a minute the room was filled with tension as he tried to avoid staring.

He thought she was beautiful, had done for too long to remember, and right now he felt like a teenager trying to avert his eyes the first time he saw his girlfriend semi naked.

She slipped between the covers and flicked a switch to turn her bedside light out, leaving him to get undressed and join her. Silence sheathed them, cutting them off from the rest of the world like it had done before. Cool sheets fell about his naked torso as he joined her, turning off the last light so that only the fluorescent eyes of the night peered in through the curtains. He wondered how they were going to do this; sleep without tasting the passion that was curled between them like some wildcat.

Her leg brushed his and his heartbeat rose, statistics about the number of men in their fifties who had heart attacks while having sex brushing his thoughts. But he wasn't fifty, and he wasn't going to have sex tonight, although part of his anatomy disagreed.

Emily moved closer to him, her head sharing the same pillow, and he felt warm breath each time she exhaled. It was reassuring, comforting, to have her close. He didn't need to explain what sort of day it had been because she already knew. A hand rested on his arm, skin connecting.

"Aaron," she said, her voice a mere whisper. "This feels strange in a nice way."

He knew he was smiling at her odd explanation. "How?"

"Because I'm so used to being on my own, and I thought tonight that I would be, after everything that's happened today, that you might want to back off because of Strauss and her politics," she paused for breath. "And all I wanted was to fall asleep with you holding me."

He could tell she was embarrassed at the confession, and he admired her honesty. She trusted him to not hurt her. Forgetting the need for sleep, he pulled her close, her head tucking under his chin and her legs entwining with his. He knew she would be aware of the effect she was having on him, but guessed she would be disappointed if it had been any different.

His fingers drew lines up and down her back, across the silken material of her nightwear and her skin. Then she tipped her face up towards his and drew him into a kiss, a soft kiss, rather like warm sea on a late spring day. It was too tempting not to respond, and he didn't want to avoid this temptation.

He could smell her perfume as he moved further down the bed, now tasting the perfume where she had sprayed it on her neck. He heard a stifled gasp as he found a sensitive spot, and felt her nails graze his back.

A clock struck one, but he barely heard it, losing himself as he shifted Emily onto her back, pulling the black nightdress over her head. Their touches were soft, undemanding, the need for reassurance unspoken in each sentence written with their fingers, hands and lips. He felt her pulling on his hair, directing his mouth to where she wanted it with quiet urgency and he let her, not needing to battle for control.

He found himself distracted by where her hands were and the way she was moving against him, the sensation of smooth skin next to his and he said her name, reaffirming who he was, who was making him who he was. Emily.

Neither fell asleep afterwards. He'd pulled on boxers and a t-shirt while she slipped into the bathroom, sprawling out on the bed to keep it warm for when she returned. Her cheeks were still flushed, the faint light from outside illuminating her skin. She curled around him, the silken nightdress now back on, and his fingers memorised its softness, its smoothness. He could still smell her perfume, mingled with the smell of them and what they had done, and he found he felt a little lost.

"You okay?" she said, her hand running under his t-shirt, across his chest.

"Yes," he said, brushing her hair out of her face and onto the pillow behind, the blackness contrasting with the white fabric. "I feel less likely to yell at Morgan now." It was an understatement. He was trying to tell her more, but couldn't find the words yet. It wasn't time.

He saw her smile, a murmured laugh echoing into the sheets. "Maybe we should write a new FBI handbook on anger management."

Hotch chuckled quietly at the idea.

"In order to refrain from punching or yelling at your colleagues, enjoy the company of one of them from time to time in a hotel room," Emily said, her tone mimicking the voiceovers from old training videos.

He moved onto his back, letting Emily relax onto his chest. "Are you sure you didn't read that line in Rossi's book?"

"It was the inscription," she said, off the cuff, and this time he laughed at her quick wit.

"Has he ever hit on you?" Hotch said, an ominous feeling curling inside his stomach. He knew Rossi of old, although he had improved much in the years since his last divorce.

"Aaron, let the green eyed monster retreat back into his cavern," she said, her words authoritative. "The only men that have hit on me recently are you, the bartender, and a couple of murderers. Rossi has not even so much as sniffed in my direction."

Mentally berating himself, Hotch closed his eyes, willing sleep to begin to arrive. "He hit on JJ once, you know. When he was drunk."

He felt Emily begin to laugh, the mattress shaking as she stifled the sound.

"He offered to show her a good time," he continued, enjoying the memory. It had been a night when Emily had had a date, and he'd been left standing next to the bar, rueing the divorce papers he'd been served with, and half watching his colleagues as they recovered from another tough case. "She suggested he got a cab and checked the date on his birth certificate."

This time Emily didn't stifle the laugh. He found he was taking pleasure in humouring her, even if it was at the expense of their friends. "JJ has never said anything – or Morgan..."

"JJ doesn't know I overheard, and Morgan had left by that point. Rossi ended the night by falling into a cab, and I doubt he remembers anything," Hotch said. He turned his head and opened his eyes to look at her, finding that she was watching him. "Will you obliterate this from your memory when we get back to Virginia?" He needed her reassurance. Quite why, he wasn't ready to explain to himself yet, but he needed to know she would have no regrets.

He saw her raise her eyebrows at him, questioning his stupidity. "I'm hoping I won't need memories that much if nights like this will be repeated."

Her eyelids began to look heavy. Sleep was about to come and take her away. "Me too," he said, letting himself finally relax, her presence becoming a soporific, dancing him into the night's keeping.

* * *

Trust is a gamble that few of us can afford not to take. Every time you open a door, answer a call, say hello, you trust the person at the other end. Trust that they will not hurt you, sadden you, or ridicule you. Without trust, we would not survive; human contact is essential, but we must trust the people from whom we receive it.

Agent Spencer Mansfield opened his door to several people on Halloween. He gave trick or treaters candy and a smile, thinking of what his own children were doing that night with their mother in another city. He paid the window cleaner, and let in his neighbour for a coffee and a chat about the youth of today, and then he locked the door when she left and checked his email to make sure that nothing had happened in the few hours since he'd left the office.

When the doorbell rang again just as he was about to get changed for bed, he trusted the familiar face standing outside and let them in, knowing that a crisis was prevailing in his visitor's life, and he didn't want to turn them away. He wasn't like that.

No alarm bells went off in his head as he entered the kitchen to make coffee, because this was someone he _knew_, someone he trusted. Agent Mansfield forgot the statistics that most people were killed by someone they knew, and not a serial killer. We trust the people we choose to know.

And sometimes we place that trust wrongly.

When Agent Mansfield looked up from pouring the coffee he couldn't quite take in the gun with the attached silencer. And as the trigger was pulled and the bullet shimmied through the air to land neatly in his chest, he still couldn't quite believe that this was happening.

You see, trust is something we should place with caution. We should consider to whom it is we are giving our trust; a cheating lover; a gossiping friend; or a colleague whom we never thought would be on a different side to the one we are.

As Agent Mansfield lay there, the door clicking shut as his killer left, he considered who else trusted the man, and wished he had enough breath left in him to warn them.

But they would just have to find out for themselves.

* * *

_I started writing Criminal Minds fanfics in order to improve aspects of my original writing, with my focus being on plot, and getting the balance of case and character about right. There's obviously an ongoing goal with style and imagery as well._

_Any reviews are great – it's lovely to get them, and any comments on the above would be more than welcome too._

_Ta muchly for reading. Next chapter will be up on Tuesday._

_Sarah x_


	27. Chapter 27

_Firstly, thank you to those people who voted for __**Calverville Point, South Dakota **__and __**Humanity**__ in the LJ Fanfic Awards 2009. Calverville Point won '__**Best Case Fic'**__ and came second in 'Best Multi-Chapter', and Humanity was fourth in 'Best Work in Progress'. _

_As usual, thank you to those people who take the time to review – it's why there will be a third fic. It's a really good really knowing that people are reading what you're writing and liking it! Please keep reviewing, and if I could, I'd send you some of the cupcakes I'm about to bake for my colleagues! Thanks to Kim, Laura, Sussi and Mary for their reviews. Special thanks to Kim, who has reviewed every last chapter and finally caught up! I hope you all enjoy!_

_And thank you to __**Chiroho**__ whose comments motivate me as much as the reviews :)_

_That sounded like a proper acceptance speech, didn't it? Sorry...._

**Humanity**

"The world is a dangerous place, not because of those who do evil, but because of those who look on and do nothing."

- Albert Einstein

**Chapter Twenty-Seven**

Fatigue turned the scenery into a haze of whites and greys, and no distinctive landmarks were recognisable through Emily's tired eyes. She wondered whether she'd feel more human had she spent the previous night alone, but experience told her otherwise. If Hotch hadn't been there, she would have heard the distant bell chime each hour, and noted each car that drove past. He soothed her in a way she hadn't considered before, his presence acted as a tranquiliser, one with no side effects, or so she hoped.

Hotch was sitting beside her in the back of the car. Rossi was in the passenger seat next to JJ, who was following Detective Barry and his rather erratic driving. They had maintained a suitable distance from each other, knowing that their colleagues were aware that their relationship was no longer platonic, but not wishing to appear anything less than professional. However, their legs were closer than one might have expected Morgan's and Reid's to have been, or Hotch and JJ, and Emily felt acutely aware of his presence. In fact, given her utter exhaustion, it was the only thing she was aware of.

The help of Uintah County Police had been enlisted for what was going to be one of the biggest door to door enquiries Emily had been involved in. They had narrowed Lee Ashley's possible residence down to five main areas, consisting of around one thousand five hundred homes in total. There were six areas from which the officers would start, those being more likely places for Lee to live, and from there they would work outwards. Then there was also a list of possible pseudonyms for Lee Ashley, now deceased pharmacists whose names were duplicated. The only problem with this was that there were multiple Steven Joneses in the area, the same with other names. But everything would be cross referenced. It had to be. A quick discovery was wished for by all, none more so that the team.

Thankfully, once the updated profile had been given to the local PD and the officers who were travelling over from Salt Lake, Emily would remain at the station with Hotch, Rossi and JJ; JJ dealing with the media, whose attention was now escalating, and herself and the other two analysing profiles of pharmacologists in the area who could fit the profile.

Emily's eyes half-closed, she was only semi-aware of the muted conversation between JJ and Rossi about Reid's well being. He'd come through the night fine, and was feeling sore rather than being swamped with pain, refusing pain killers as per usual. Emily and JJ had swung by his room at St Mark's an hour or so ago, dropping off his laptop and cell phone so he could work on a geographical profile. He'd demanded that a link be set up when they reached Vernal so he could listen to the psychological profile, and they'd agreed only because they knew that otherwise he'd find some other way to keep busy, a way that could do him more harm than good.

She felt the car begin to slow, taking a sharp turn before stopping somewhat abruptly, and forced her eyes to open. She looked up the wide street that she imagined was dusty in summer, a throwback to the days when tarmac didn't exist and everyone knew everyone else's business. Unfortunately, modernity had anonymized neighbours, making it harder to catch criminals and killers.

Pushing the half-random thoughts away, Emily stepped out of the vehicle and followed Hotch into the station. It was a small building, with just four or five rooms. The bullpen was already crowded with officers, some of whom had been drafted in from other counties and stations to help. A shiver of anticipation trembled though her skin, as the possibility that they were wrong in their profile crept up on her like a dark shadow.

She trusted what they did, and she knew they were good it. But they were human after all, and perfectly capable of making mistakes; she just hoped that today wasn't the day when that happened.

JJ had stayed outside, taking with Detective Reece, the man in charge of the area. As of yet, there was no media, but that was unlikely to last for long, and there would need to be a plan of action and contingency measures put in place so that nothing was jeopardised.

Emily stood at the front of the room with Hotch and Rossi, pleased that they were going to do most of the talking. There were few female officers, the workforce made up mostly of males, a lot of whom were in their forties and fifties, and were possibly reluctant to follow a profile. They would identify more readily with Rossi and Hotch, so Emily was given only a limited role in the delivery, something she was not going to complain about.

Someone brought a carafe of water over, and she heard Rossi ask about coffee, knowing that they were all enduring a similar level of exhaustion. She leaned back against the wall and sipped the cold water, feeling it trickle down her throat. She wondered about Morgan, and what he was doing. He'd spoken briefly with Hotch before they'd left to come to Vernal, although she hadn't heard the conversation, and doubted she'd ever find out what had been said.

"Thank you for being here this morning," Hotch said, drawing the crowd's attention. Emily stood up a little straighter, aware that some eyes would be on her, assessing whether she was worthy to be working in what was still deemed to be a man's world by some officers. "We are looking to question Lee Ashley, a white male, 37 years old and originally from Willow Springs in Tooele County. He is wanted in connection with the attacks and murders on seven elderly people throughout the state.

"Lee Ashley disappeared from all databases after the death of his grandfather almost three years ago. He was a pharmacist and had inherited a large sum of money from his uncle, giving him the financial ability to disappear. Lee was physically, sexually and emotionally abused by his grandfather as a child. He feel s no empathy and can be described as sociopathic.

"We believe Lee has a hit list of potential victims which is being circulated to you now. These are people who he thinks could have helped him escape the abuse suffered at the hands of his grandfather. You will notice that all have age in common – he only targets elderly people, and he justifies the attack by deeming it as a mercy killing. He thinks he is helping them in the way they should have helped him when he was a child.

"It is likely that Lee has taken on the identity of a pharmacist who was recently deceased – within the past three or four years. He has done this in order to easily gain credentials as good as his own, as well as a new name. He is remarkably intelligent but is very much a loner. Although he has had at least one relationship in the past, he is not interested in forming one now. He will live alone without any pets, and his house will be immaculately tidy. It is somewhere he feels safe and in control, and he will return there each night without fail. The house will have been bought and for him it will be a symbol of his success. He has a second pseudonym of Jacob Lafayette, under which he has a bank account containing a substantial amount of money. He withdraws from this each month in cash, and uses ATM's in Colorado as well as in this area." Hotch finished, the sudden absence of his calm, clear tone leaving the room in silence.

Rossi mooched forward, his hands in his jeans pockets. "Lee Ashley has a mission. He wants revenge on the people who could have helped him and didn't. He is not concerned for his own life, and won't be until his mission is complete. You will see that there are three people on his list that we know about; there may be more. We have arranged protection for each of these people as is appropriate for their circumstance.

"His car will be immaculately clean, like his house. It will also be new and is likely to be a Lexus or an Audi, a brand that Lee perceives as being good as well as a status symbol. He will only have one car.

"When we find Lee he will be aggressive. He should not be approached alone. He will attempt to fight anyone who hinders his task. However, to others he will appear as a slightly odd, quiet character who rarely mixes with other people. He will almost certainly be a manager and in charge of the shift patterns, which he uses to his advantage. He will be softly spoken and look harmless, and probably older than thirsty-seven. His colleagues and acquaintances will imagine he is nearer to fifty than forty, and he may well have taken the identity of someone in that age range.

"A key clue to finding Lee will be what others say of him. He will not be disliked, and he will not give others the creeps, but no one will know him well or will have sought to get to know him. Some may say they feel sorry for him, but do not wish to help him become more sociable," Rossi ended, glancing at Emily. It was her turn.

With all eyes on her she began to speak, the natural gift for talking to an audience coming through at just the right moment. "Ashley has shortened the length of time between attacks," she said. "However, it takes time to stalk and scare his victims, something he needs to do before he can attack them. He will be starting to feel the pressure from the police investigation, so he will be rushing to end his mission before he is caught. People around him will have noticed that he is more preoccupied and is making mistakes. He will potentially be becoming angry at others when it's not their fault, as he refuses to take any blame himself for his errors. He will become more irrational in his desperation, and this will have been noticed over the course of the last few days."

Hotch took over, summing up the key points before handing over to Detectives Barry and Reece, who had re-entered with JJ, his expression concerned. Some UnSubs weren't a real threat to the agents and officers seeking them, but others were, and Lee Ashley was one.

"Aleve?" JJ said, slipping beside her. "You look like you could do with something laced with caffeine too."

Emily shook her head. "I'm good, just exhausted. And this is the point in the investigation where we need to be at full strength and completely with it." She looked at the ground near her feet, the irony of the situation submersing her.

"I just want to be home with Will and Henry," JJ said, gazing into nothing. "Please don't let a crucial case hit us as soon as we get back."

"There's nothing urgent so far?" Emily said, looking at her hopefully.

"Nope," JJ said, shaking her head so her pony tail swung from side to side. "And Hotch has said to respond that no profiles will be given for at least ten days. Everything's being passed on to one of the other teams that might be able to help. I just hope it stays that way."

"So do I," said Emily, hoping that the feeling of dread was due to the bad smelling coffee, rather than some portentous omen.

* * *

Sitting up was not the most comfortable of positions, but it was one he was getting used to. Reid had tried propping the laptop up with pillows so he could lie down, but at that angle the screen reflected the glare, and he kind of needed to see to be able to read.

A map of the area where everyone, except for Morgan, was now located , sat in front of him. A few quick searches and he'd been able to identify different types of houses according to what was on the websites for local realtors. Lee Ashley was no fool. He would have chosen somewhere that was meaningful. It would not have been a haphazard stab in the dark leading from a 'this looks nice'; it would have been a carefully made decision, and at some point there would have been an omen. The right place at the right time.

He continued to look at street names, local landmarks, and places of interest. The nurse coming in broke his concentration, and he felt a little aggrieved at having to put the computer down while his wound was redressed and exclaimed over. He was a quick healer, partly because he could block out any pain by becoming completely distracted by something else; the obsessive pursuit of his goals. It was something his mom had been so proud about.

Helen, the nurse, left, allowing him to get back to his research. He zoomed in on an area, noticing a quarry, a feature he knew was also in Willow Springs. Dragging a mouse around the screen he took note of all the houses that would have had a view of the quarry, then called Garcia, a rush of adrenaline zipping through his veins, killing the pain from his chest.

"Yes, my boy-wonder. What can I do for you this fine morning?" Garcia said after just one ring.

"You sound strange," Reid said, not really thinking about what he was saying. Sometimes he forgot that he should think first. "Is everything okay?"

"Fine and dandy." A few keys were being hit rapidly in the background. The fact that Garcia wasn't talking meant he could hear them, and that worried him.

"Garcia – are you sure everything's alright?" he said, wondering if something had happened and the team were trying to protect him. He appreciated their concern, but he did occasionally feel babied. He didn't need that. He'd mixed with people older than him all his life, and he'd learnt a lot from them.

"Fine. Just – very – busy. What can I do for you?" She was almost abrupt, and he knew that there was a problem which she was desperate not to talk about. Had it been any other time he would have pressed her for more information and cracked open her shell of secrecy, but he had more pressing things to discover.

"Can you look at the owners of the houses on Quarry Wood Road in Vernal? Are there any names there that tally with pharmacists who died in the last five years?" he said, feeling his heart beating rapidly. He was glad that the monitor had been disconnected otherwise he would have had a stream of nurses in here by now.

There was a long pause while he assumed she was waiting for the search results to appear. "You've hit the nail on the head, boy genius," Garcia said. "Neil Parsons lives at number 307."

"That's backs directly onto the quarry," Reid said. "That's Lee Ashley's address! I'll call Hotch."

He hung up on her without warning, keeping his phone in hand and dialling Hotch. He didn't bother with speed dials; by the time he'd hit the right combination of keys he could've typed in the number.

Hotch answered not nearly as quickly as Garcia, and didn't sound as pleased to hear from him either. Reid didn't take offense; he knew Hotch was as exhausted as the rest of them, and with both himself and Morgan being out of action, was carrying more of the world on his shoulders than usual.

"Reid," Hotch said. "I hope you're not making yourself worse."

"Not at all. In fact, I think I have an address," Reid said, hearing the glee in the tone of his voice.

"I'm putting you on speaker so Prentiss and Rossi can hear," Hotch said. Reid smiled at the use of Emily's last name; it sounded strange coming from Hotch now. They were all well aware that they had passed into first name territory, just no one had commented on it. Yet.

"Okay, guys," Reid said. "Lee Ashley lived near a disused quarry when he grew up in Willow Springs. There's another quarry, again disused, that can be seen and be accessed from Quarry Wood Road. A Neil Parsons owns number 307. Neil Parsons is the name of a pharmacist who died in 2003." He waited for the response.

"Reid, that's excellent work," Hotch said. "Get back on the phone to Garcia and see what she can find out about Neil Parsons. We're heading over to the house."

The line went dead and Reid looked at his phone for a moment, raising his eyebrows. He wished he was there.

* * *

_November 2008_

_Vernal_

_Uintah County, Utah_

_No one had noticed him throughout his life. That was how he'd gotten away with everything. After Gemma had ended their relationship, he'd gone to a local strip joint and become friendly with one of the strippers there. Candy, she'd been called; a typical name for a stripper, trying to make herself sound sweet._

_He'd slipped something into the juice she'd been drinking, just a little something to make her dopey. Then he'd watched and waited for her until she'd started the walk home, her feet dancing around as if she was drunk, delirious, or both._

_He'd picked her up and taken her to a field that was a bog in winter. The soil was soft, and after he'd mounted her, then mutilated the parts he thought were obscene, he'd tightened his hands around her sagging neck and squeezed the last of the air out of her foul lungs._

_She'd been buried, as was proper, in the peaty soil. Sometimes Lee wondered if she'd become a bog woman, to be discovered in a thousand or so years time by school children looking for an adventure and finding the dead body of an old whore._

_He'd put her out of her misery._

_Smiling at the memory, he made sure the low sun didn't catch the lenses of his binoculars as he watched the woman in the chair. She was barely recognisable, and had he not done his research meticulously, then he wouldn't have known which was her. Clara Madden. She'd worked in the butchers in Willow Springs and she'd seen his Grandfather hit him on two occasions. On the second he'd fallen unconscious, and yet she'd done nothing. Lee wondered how to break the news to her that her sins had not been forgotten. But still, he would have mercy. He would put her out of her misery, because dying like his grandfather had done in a home where nobody cared was worse than being killed._

_He saw her stand, shakily, as if her balance had long since flown away like the crows from a barren field. She wobbled out of her room, probably heading for the dining area as it was getting on for lunch time. Lee smiled, putting the binoculars away. He'd be back later - with a message for Ms Clara Madden. He hoped she'd be grateful. _

* * *

_Please review!_

_We're approaching the end of this story, so if you're lurking, now's a good time to delurk! _


	28. Chapter 28

_Thank you once again for the reviews, and thank you to Sussi, Laura and Kim for their two! Enjoy this chapter, it's probably my favourite overall!_

_Thank you to __**Chiroho**__, who I think ended up with me sending three versions of this!_

**Humanity**

"How is one to live a moral and compassionate existence when one is fully aware of the blood, the horror inherent in life, when one finds darkness not only in one's culture but within oneself? If there is a stage at which an individual life becomes truly adult, it must be when one grasps the irony in its unfolding and accepts responsibility for a life lived in the midst of such paradox. One must live in the middle of contradiction, because if all contradiction were eliminated at once life would collapse. There are simply no answers to some of the great pressing questions. You continue to live them out, making your life a worthy expression of leaning into the light."

- Barry Lopez

**Chapter Twenty-Eight**

Hotch closed his eyes and looked away from the building. It had been three hours since they'd confirmed that nobody was inside, at which point he'd demanded that a dozen officers move away completely and the rest reverted to the covert operation that had been discussed between himself, the rest of the team, and Detectives Barry and Reece.

They would wait.

The roles were now reversed, and Ashley had become the hunted. They were now the stalkers, sitting in and outside now empty houses, watching and waiting for their prey to return to the very place he thought he would be safe, like a rabbit returning to his burrow. Only this rabbit was no tame, friendly creature. It was rabid, turned so by daily injections of hatred and mistreatment that had extracted the very humanity it needed. That they all needed.

He let himself settle slightly into the seat of the car. Fear pitted his stomach, knotting his insides. He knew that he, his team, could be wrong, that it might not be Ashley; and even if it was, then he might not be returning to his home as they had predicted. He could have become aware of the stakeout, of the hunt; or he could be preoccupied with his latest game, waiting for the cover of night before he took his chance and slaughtered them in the very place where _they_ had learned to be safe.

Hotch steadied his expression. He could not let anyone know of his doubts. Of course he knew that Emily and Rossi would be thinking similar thoughts, Emily probably more so. Rossi generally had an almost impossible belief in their profiles, and this one was no different. But everyone else; Reece, Barry, their officers, needed to believe.

He'd been inside the house, Officer Ridehalgh as back up, then Emily and Rossi following once each room had been cleared. It would normally have been Morgan who led such investigations, but Morgan wasn't there and Hotch had never been more aware of him until now, his absence making itself known in every glance around, every instruction, every conversation.

Whatever he'd done, Morgan was an integral part of their team, a piece of the jigsaw without which they weren't complete. Each member brought their own personality, their own instincts and intelligence, and those assets were at their best when they were working together. As much as Hotch wanted to knock ten tons of sense into Morgan, he also wanted him to retain his place in the unit, because he knew that they all still had their lessons to learn. And that was the difference between them and _their_ prey: they learnt from their lessons.

Emily sipped from a cold cup of coffee, seated next to him in the driver's seat. Her hair was tied back, and her eyes looked tired and dark. There was no healthy tinge of colour in her cheeks, even though he had watched her apply blush, or rouge as his mother had called it, a few hours earlier when he had gotten ready in her hotel room. She hadn't been aware of his gaze at first; otherwise he was sure she would have made some comment about it. He'd found he could have watched for hours as she went about her morning routine. He wished that one day they'd have the time.

Moving his eyes back to Ashley's house, he regained his focus. He'd been on many stakeouts like this, sitting for indeterminate periods of time, in all kinds of weather, waiting for the hunted to return to his den, so they could strike and take him down. They could well be in for a long night, which was the last thing his team needed.

Hotch's thoughts returned to Emily and her make-up. He'd sat on the bed, threading cufflinks and watching her ready herself in a muted silence. He'd not wanted to leave her this morning, showering in her room before she did after transferring his things from next door. She hadn't asked why, questioned his actions, instead she'd gone about her own routine in a perfect parallel to him. Neither got in the other's way, and when she'd seen his fingers fumble with the awkward left cufflink, she'd silently put down her make-up brush and sat next to him on the unmade bed, fastening it with a deft action.

They'd been close the night before, and he wasn't focusing on the physical proximity. Something had been broken; the wall that kept them both apart from other people now had a gateway just large enough to let each other in. Maybe it was because of what had happened with Morgan, with Reid being stabbed. They'd sought support, and gained it from each other.

Because he trusted her.

With his life.

Sitting beside him now, he knew she had his back. He knew she was an excellent agent; intelligent, wise, experienced. She wouldn't take the chances Morgan had; she didn't need the centre stage like Rossi: she saw the whole picture, including the bits that were meant to be concealed and he knew she was his match.

He hoped he was hers.

His heart rate steadied, having quickened with the excursion into Lee Ashley's house. It was a nice home, decorated like the pictures of an interior design magazine because Ashley would have had no other idea of what to do. It's not that he would have lacked imagination; it simply wouldn't have worked in a practical way as it would never have been allowed to develop normally. Because there was nothing normal about Lee Ashley.

Each muscle in his body stiffened like a cat about to pounce as he saw a car pull up. They couldn't cordon off the street or Ashley would automatically know something was amiss. Officers had been placed just off the main road, the only real entrance to the estate, pretending to be surveying traffic.

A woman got out of the car, opening the trunk and pulling out two bags of shopping. He was about to get out, but as his hand made contact with the handle Emily stopped him, pointing to JJ who was approaching the woman. She would be told to go elsewhere , possibly until later on tonight, and to contact any other members of the family in a discreet manner so they didn't return to be caught in any crossfire, and so become casualties.

They had evacuated nearby houses, unsure of exactly how Ashley would behave when confronted, probably on his doorstep. He had a garage, and one possibility was that he would have parked his car in there, using the remote controlled door, so he didn't even have to step outside. That would have meant agents entering the house, and Hotch wanted to avoid that, especially after recent events.

So instead the garage door had been sabotaged, thanks a five minute cell phone conversation where Reid had talked him through, step by step, how to stop the garage door from working correctly. Instead it would jam after rising around nine inches, and Ashley would have to get out of his car to see what was wrong.

Hotch thought for a moment about Reid, and how, for whatever reason, he had decided to become one of the good guys. His childhood had been unbalanced, and even though he'd had a mother that loved him, she'd been dysfunctional with Reid taking the role of primary carer as soon as he was old enough. He'd been over-adulted, and had a mind that was not programmed in the same way as most people. But he hadn't become a Lee Ashley. Instead he'd become the opposite.

The woman got back into her car, JJ having taken her cell number to call her when everything was over. Hotch felt himself edge back into the seat again, knowing that at some point his senses would once again be tweaked, probably several times, and the last of those times it would be because Ashley had arrived, and they were at their final battle.

The skies above were soundless and clear, the snow clouds having made their way somewhere else. The good weather allowed them perfect visibility, which could be crucial later. He wished for a plane to pass over them, or a dog to bark in the distance, but no sound came. The silence was eerie; a waiting silence, a false quiet that breathed with bated breath. Waiting for the bomb to be dropped.

Haley's English great-grandfather had fought in the First World War. He'd sat in the trenches in Ypres, knee deep in a mud that contained more than soil and water; the hideous remains of a war that knew no compassion. When he'd returned, shell-shocked and empty-eyed, his wife had needed to learn to move as silently as a flower growing. The slightest noise would send him under the table, taking shelter, the long awaited attack taking place.

Years later, just before he'd died, Hotch had met him. He'd been sitting in a rocking chair, a tartan blanket over legs that barely worked; but his eyes, unseeing with age, were now filled with memories that his mind had no longer needed to hide. He'd told stories of the mud, the gas, and the screams of dying men being carried on the wind from no-man's land, accepting his memories and the atrocities of humanity before he carried onto whatever afterlife lay before him.

He'd also talked of the painful silence. That terrorizing wait before the shells were flung again and the noise began; that wait before you found out whether it was your turn to die.

This wasn't like that. Hotch knew there were unlikely to be any deaths. The situation was unlikely to escalate, but the waiting was still painful. He ached mentally, as if his mind was in the blocks waiting for a major race, and had been for hours. Ready to spring into action, but not knowing when.

Emily fidgeted beside him, a text message from Rossi coming through asking if they wanted coffee. He saw quick fingers replying, and he asked her to get water for them as well. Water would help keep them alert. She smiled at his request, telling him she'd already asked for it, and yet again he wondered if she had learned to read his mind when he wasn't looking. She seemed to have the gift of reading Morgan's too, or so he'd understood from his conversation with him before they'd left.

Morgan had been in pieces still, but he confessed to having slept for the first time since they'd returned from Calverville Point. Some of the tension had left him already; his shoulders were loser, his expression less taut. He'd been broken by his own hand and now had to deal with guilt of being human, of facing up to the reality that they all had a little of that darkness painted inside them.

Because it _was_ there in each of them.

People called them demons, separating the bad characteristics from the rest of the person, so any darkness, any possibility of lacking humanity was taken away. It removed the possibility for blame. _It was his inner demons_. A cliché, an excuse. There weren't demons. No such thing existed outside the realm of stories. They were aspects of someone's personality that needed to be controlled.

Coffee arrived, hot and steaming. Emily cupped her hands around it, soaking in the warmth. Hotch placed his in the cup holder, looking at Ashley's house now sitting in the semi-darkness left behind by sunset. A voice buzzed in his ear, letting him know that a male driver was on his way down the road. He glanced at Emily who had heard it too, and they readied themselves to move.

An engine broke the stillness and the car drove passed Ashley's house, further down the road, away from the quarry, and Hotch closed his eyes in frustration. Another false alarm. How many would there be?

Tiredness and fatigue sapped over him, and he longed for a pillow and the right to use it. Emily's perfume, faint after almost twelve hours since application, twisted in the air he breathed, reminding him of nights in Calverville Point soaking in her scent from his pillow or her duvet. She was still new to him, and he knew that given the time, he would revel in that newness, that uniqueness.

A house alarm sounded a few streets away, it's continual holler fracturing the night.

Last night the final barrier had slipped away, although he wasn't sure he'd be able to let her know that. Not yet. It was there for the taking; love. But was he ready for it? Could he commit to what that meant again after he'd made such a minefield of it the first time around?

But what did that word mean: love? Exactly what contract did you sign when you said it? Why did it have to be such an imprisoning experience when it should have been freeing? He rested his arm against the window, waiting. Now wasn't the time to speculate and reason. That needed space and air, and coffee that hadn't been made by David Rossi. The tomorrows that followed would give him a chance to explore, to discover if this love was different, if it bound in different ways.

The alarm stopped, probably cut off by a timer. Hotch hoped that a playful cat or a toppling pile of books had set it off rather than a thief. It would be ironic if it wasn't a false alarm.

He wondered whether to call Garcia, who had sounded very unlike herself the last time they had spoken. Hotch had put it down to the mess Morgan was in; it would take its toll on everyone, especially her. Morgan had told him of his concerns, of the bareness of his life outside of work, and Hotch had empathised. The conversation was a start, an entrance to a new plateau between them, and one they could only creep onto right now. Tomorrow would present an opportunity to push further, to take ground.

And right now, they needed Morgan. Needed his strength, his dynamism, his drive. It should be Morgan standing behind that house, not Detective Reece, and Hotch would feel slightly less on edge.

He'd lied to Morgan. He did trust him. He knew he would have his back, just as he would always have Reid's, and Emily's and everyone's else. Just not always his own. As he'd said to Morgan that morning, '_a man who doesn't trust himself can never truly trust anyone else' _and he'dleft him with that to think about.

Emily tightened her pony-tail, giving Hotch a look that told of her frustration. He needed her to get through this, to survive the night, then they could go back to the hotel and sleep until midday. No amount of paperwork or politics was going to stop that from happening. He knew the team joked about his vampire-like qualities, that fact he stayed late and was at the BAU early, never seeming to sleep; but he was at the point of breaking himself, and recognised that he couldn't carry on without having some form of respite. He wasn't a machine. Not yet. Some humanity was still there.

His eyes felt dry, and he cursed not bringing his glasses so he could throw his contact lenses away. He could feel his strength waning, and he fought sleep, wishing he could get out of the car and walk down the road, needing fresh air and exercise.

A coyote cried to its mate, the answering call drowned out by the sound of another car. Lightning shot up Hotch's spine, and sleep was sent back to its realm unaccompanied. The car pulled onto the driveway Hotch had spent the last few hours of his life studying.

The garage door jolted precisely nine inches from the ground, and Hotch got out of the car mentally sending thanks to whichever guardian angel had kept Reid from the dark side.

Lee Ashley turned around, his features illuminated by the streetlamp just outside his house. He suspected something, knew something was amiss instinctively. The abused always did. Self-preservation: sense the trap before it snaps shut.

"FBI," Hotch said, directing his gun. "Put your hands up and remain still." His voice was calm. Any sign of panic would escalate the situation, and they had no idea of what weapons he was carrying.

Emily was beside him, her weapon poised, as awake as he was. He saw the other officers slowly making their presence known, all bases covered. Lee Ashley was surrounded.

He knew then that Lee would run, would flee.

Hotch found himself sprinting across the driveway, protocol embedded with instinct, stepping across the unconscious bodies of two officers, and down a narrow path that cut between Lee's house and his neighbour's.

Hurried footfalls were audible, but Hotch wasn't sure whether they were his, Lee's, or Emily's behind him, his senses blurring. The darkness of the path paled as it led them to the quarry, sharp juts of rock and stone glinting through the thin layer of snow.

Hotch stopped running, his breath creating a fog around his mouth, and looked for Lee. A helicopter hovered over them like a benign blowfly, its beam causing the ground to glint dangerously, as if it was waiting for blood to be spilt, to drink it in, just as the mud had done in No Man's Land.

Lee stood beside the quarry, on top of a large rock left behind by the workers and the machines of another era. He was dressed in slacks and a shirt, unsuitable clothing for such a cold night, his eyes bespectacled. No words were written on him, telling of the atrocities he had committed. No sign was stuck to his shirt, or arrow hanging above his head. He was an ordinary looking man, but Hotch knew that his mind was unreachable, too far away, too far gone, for him to step into it.

Hotch raised his weapon. He had a clear shot, but then so did Lee. Emily was standing slightly behind him, following protocol. In the distance he could hear Rossi issuing instructions, taking control of the officers.

"I know you need to complete your mission, Lee," Hotch said. "I know there are more people who could have helped you and didn't. Why not come down from there and we can take you to them? We can talk. Look." Hotch lowered his gun knowing that there would now be several other weapons trailed on Lee. Hopefully the people holding them were good marksmen.

Lee looked directly at Hotch. Even from this distance, Hotch could see complacency etched on his face. Lee didn't care. He had nothing left, because he'd never had anything to begin with. "I hope you enjoyed the chase," Lee said simply. "Now I can find out what it's like to fly." He dropped the gun, its metal glinting under the luminescent beam from the helicopter. Then he stepped out onto an invisible platform, his face serene, as he let go of everything.

Silence froze.

The drop was fifty, sixty feet; the bottom of the quarry masked in a blackness, saving them from the sight of Lee Ashley hitting the ground below. He didn't scream; the only sound a heavy thud that could've been from a falling rock or something else inanimate.

Then there were the roars of sirens, and the voices of people began to rise from the ashes as an unusual collocation of relief and desperation filled their senses. Radios began to buzz with messages and phones rang; a cacophony of relief, a symphony for the dead.

Moments passed; a blur of time. A conversation was had, one that had been spoken before and would be again, and then Hotch glanced at Emily, then Rossi, and began to walk away, dissatisfied. But it was always going to end this way. They'd known that coming in. They followed him, almost unnoticed by the other officers. Detective Reece gave them a brief nod, a thank you, and Hotch felt content to leave him to deal with the repercussions.

A few flakes of snow began to fall as they got into the car, numbing him further. Tomorrow they would deal with what had happened, would analyse what could have been done, if anything, to save Lee from himself, to see if humanity could be injected into a shell of darkness.

Ambulances passed them as they drove away, JJ happy to take the wheel once again. Before they'd left Vernal Emily had fallen asleep, her head against his shoulder, and even the appearance of Strauss wouldn't have made him move her.

Tomorrow the fallout would begin. There would be paperwork and questions, as there always were. But their job had ended, and lives had been saved. Tomorrow they would celebrate the survivors and mourn for those they had not been able to save. Tomorrow.

He watched the night's scenery; the snow adding an extra light to the fields and mountains that they passed. There was no conversation; they all knew the others' thoughts.

Sometimes silence was all that needed to be said.

* * *

_And sometimes a review is all that needs to be sent._

_Next chapter up Sunday, and the final chapter will be up next Tuesday._


	29. Chapter 29

_The penultimate chapter, folks! Thanks to the reviewers as usual, and to Kim and Careey for their reviews. Also, thank you to __**Chiroho!**_

_On with the show!_

**Humanity**

"We must develop and maintain the capacity to forgive. He who is devoid of the power to forgive is devoid of the power to love. There is some good in the worst of us and some evil in the best of us. When we discover this, we are less prone to hate our enemies."

- Martin Luther King, Jr

**Chapter Twenty-Nine**

Reid had managed to get himself dressed, much to the nurse's discontent. They didn't want to discharge him for another day, but after much reassurance that he'd take it easy and rest at the hotel and on the plane, as well as get checked out by his own doctor when he got home, he'd been given a weak smile and a nod of agreement. He wasn't going to remain in the hospital when everyone else would be making their way back home. Besides, he wanted to find out what had happened at Ashley's home, and the aftermath of the investigation. Even though Ashley was dead, there were still things they could learn to assist them with future cases.

He began to squash his few belongings into the holdall JJ had brought over that morning. She'd come with a change of clothes and some non-hospital coffee, both of which he would be eternally grateful for. He'd noticed how tired she'd looked, utter exhaustion hanging around her like a shroud.

Her visit had been brief. She was needed by the police to draw up statements for the media, a large press conference being given at noon. He'd caught bits of it on the television, and saw that she'd masked her tiredness with heavier make-up than usual. Hopefully, when they returned home there would be a few days with no cases; not that he'd be doing anything bar sitting behind his desk for a couple of weeks, if not longer.

"You need some help doing that?" a familiar voice said as Reid tried to push his shirt into the holdall without bending too much.

He sat back up automatically, not going to refuse assistance from the person who was now standing at his door. "How's it going?" he said, looking over towards them.

Morgan nodded, his face full of shame and other emotions that weren't usually visible. "About as well as you'd think. They said you're okay to go?"

Reid shrugged, an action that didn't feel that comfortable. "Pretty much."

"That's a no then?" Morgan entered fully, closing the door behind him. "You know, kid, if they say you should still be here, you need to listen to them. They do know what they're talking about."

Reid nodded, giving a wry smile. "I get the feeling the nurse who's been looking after me would like to keep me here indefinitely," he said. He'd noticed her peering in while he had been getting changed. "Besides, it's rest I need, and I can have that anywhere; including at the hotel then on the plane."

Morgan gave a slight nod, and sat down in the chair facing Reid who was sitting on the bed. Reid knew what was coming next. He'd not spoken to Morgan since the incident, trying not to feel hurt that he'd not come by to visit. He knew, of course, what had happened; what had gone on with Chloe, and then with her boyfriend. He'd been informed when they had brought him the laptop yesterday. For some reason, Reid wasn't surprised. Morgan wore a front, a genuine one, which acted as a protective shield for what went on deep inside. At some point, that shield had dropped. It just seemed that it had happened in style. "Reid – I'm..."

"Do we really need to go there, Derek?" Reid said, cutting him off. He wasn't angry and he didn't want any apologies. They would only rub salt into his wound, and it certainly wouldn't clean it.

Morgan shrugged, looking away from him. "I fucked up, Spence. I didn't check. It was a kid's mistake."

"I take offense to that, seeing as you always call me kid," Reid said, trying to lighten the atmosphere. "It's one of those things. And it was never life or death, you know. I even got a couple of days to rest, which is more than everyone else has had."

Morgan laughed sardonically. "Yeah, I kind of gave myself those days off too."

Reid nodded. "What's going to happen?" he said, still feeling awkward. He remembered the moments with JJ after Henkle had gotten to him; and his own feelings in the compound when Emily had been beaten. He knew what Morgan was feeling to a certain extent, and could guess at the rest.

"There'll be an inquiry, so I guess you'll be interviewed. Hotch will have to give a character reference, and they'll probably ask Rossi for one as well," Morgan bit his lips together, and Reid saw a flicker of the emotion he was trying to keep tied within. "I've been lucky though. Did you hear about the incident with Karl – the girl's boyfriend?"

"You know news travels fast whenever Rossi's concerned. Not that he was gossiping – just keeping me informed," Reid said. Rossi had been worried, perturbed by Morgan's emotional involvement. But he'd also been defensive over what Morgan had done. At some point they all became over involved with the victims of cases, went beyond their duty of care and what their job description actually said. Had Morgan been wrong to fight back, to give Karl as taste of what he had done to someone who has smaller and weaker than him in so many ways? Reid wasn't sure yet what his opinion was.

"Yeah, Rossi. The surveillance camera caught him attacking me. The local officers are saying that I was defending myself from further attacks. Luckily, when I did hit him, we had moved out of sight of the cameras. The locals are just happy to finally be able to hold him on a charge that will stick," Morgan said, finally looking at Reid. "Chloe should be okay."

"Are you going to see her again?" Reid said, wondering if he was pushing it too far with this question.

Morgan shrugged. "I don't know. She's still here. I guess I should."

"Only if you want to," Reid said. "But I guess you feel obligated."

Morgan was silent for a moment. "You know, Reid. I could have killed him. I was stronger than him, and I could think about what I was doing. When I had him pinned up against the wall I could feel the life going seeping out of him, like he was becoming some rag doll. And it made me feel powerful and in control."

"And that bothers you because you understand why he got off on treating his girlfriend the way he did," Reid said. "You've taken a walk into that area where light becomes dark. Shades of grey. We all go there, Derek. We need to in order to do our job."

The nod that came was weak, as if Morgan was struggling to come to terms with what that meant for him. He saw himself in terms of black and white. He was highly moral, with a clear personal code of conduct, and he had now breached that code. "I get that, Reid," he said. "I was a young offender. I know how easy it is to cross into the dark side; I just didn't think I'd see that place again."

Reid watched Morgan's expression, unsure of what to say; what there was to say.

Morgan stood up, looking bereft still. "Anyway, pretty boy. I'm here as your ride back to the hotel. Under orders to get you into the restaurant for some lunch and then get everything packed. Wheels up is at seven tonight."

Reid nodded, feeling uncomfortable. He knew they would return to their old familiar states; he just wasn't sure how long it would take, and supposed it was down to Morgan. You couldn't let anyone in close, until you were sure of yourself and what they would find. At the moment, Morgan was unsure of who he was – Reid remembered being in that position; finding things out about himself that he didn't like, things that he didn't know he was capable of. But they all had it, he supposed. They all had that darker aspect to their personalities, it was just that most people chose to hide it.

"Morgan," he said, wincing as he stood. "I need you to know that I don't blame you for what happened. It could have been any of us."

Morgan gave him an uncertain look as he bent down to pick up Reid's bag. "Thanks," he said. "But I guess I've got to find a way to forgive myself."

* * *

Hotch was right; Rachel Jacobs' car was outside Mrs Ashley's house once again, the curtains pulled back to exactly the same point as they had been two days ago. Emily got out of the car feeling every muscle in her body ache, and longed for the opportunity of a hot bath and her bed for at least three days straight. Unfortunately that wasn't a certainty, at least not for another day. She followed Hotch to the front door with a heavier heart than the last time she had been there.

There had been no happy endings. Sometimes there weren't, and she accepted that; but this case had left her with a sense of frustration and dissatisfaction that she wasn't used to. It was as if there should still be another chapter to it, another paragraph of the story where it turned out that Lee Ashley hadn't committed suicide and he was now in police custody, waiting to be questioned.

But that hadn't happened, and now they were there to tell his mother that her son had died.

Emily doubted that she would be bitterly upset, that she would begin mourning the son she hadn't seen for years. But there would still be that natural sadness, the grief that would never truly fade.

Rachel saw them, and opened the door before they had chance to knock. Her face was drawn and she looked as tired as Emily felt. Emily wondered whether the care of her mother was now taking up twenty-four hours a day, and the thought that more anguish was about to be given made her heart ache.

"Ms Jacobs," Hotch said, showing his identification. "We were here the other day..."

"I remember," she said, cutting him off. "You were asking questions about Lee."

"We're here to give you some answers," he said, his voice muted with sympathy. "I think you might want to let us in."

Rachel bowed her head, grey hairs showing at the roots. "Mrs Ashley's health has taken a turn for the worse. I think she's aware of very little, but I'd rather she didn't hear this."

Emily saw tears filling her eyes. She already knew, already understood what had happened. "Of course," Emily said, crossing the threshold. "But I think _you_ need to know, don't you?" It was a leading question, and one the woman understood the meaning of immediately.

She gave a watery smile. "How quickly did you work out who I was?" she said. "I was never the world's best criminal. Never good enough at lying."

"It doesn't matter now," Emily said, sitting down in the same seat she had before. "Can you confirm for us who you are in relation to Lee Ashley?"

Rachel nodded, looking down at the carpet. "I'm his mother," she said. "In name only. I didn't – couldn't – bring him up. Are you going to tell me what he's done?"

Emily gave Hotch a quick glance. They'd agreed that he would talk through this part.

"Lee Ashley was responsible for the attacks and murders of eight elderly people. We found him last night in Vernal, and instead of giving himself up, he took his own life. I'm sorry, Ms Jacobs," Hotch said. His words were quiet but they filled the whole room, taking over the whole space and using up all of the air.

Emily could feel Rachel's claustrophobia as she gasped, covering her face with her hands, as if trying to retreat into a place where the words that had just passed had never been said.

Emily placed a hand on her back, rubbing softly to provide some sort of human touch, some comfort. "We're sorry, Rachel," she said, using the first name to take away some anonymity. "I think you knew that Lee..."

"Wasn't normal," Rachel said. "Wasn't human. It's wrong for a mother to say that, isn't it? And I was never the best mother. I was an addict and a prostitute, so I guess he was doomed from the start. When my parents took him to live with them I knew it was for the best. I could never offer him any stability, or even any love; but even doing what I thought was right, I ended up being wrong." She looked at them with eyes like Lee's had been, tears flowing down cheeks devoid of make-up. "My father abused him. It was years ago when I found out, when my mother told me. She knew; she'd known all the time, but she knew if I found out, and Lee ended up coming back to me, then he'd probably be abused again. She defended her husband, my father, by saying that at least he loved him, and he would come to no real harm."

Rachel glanced at the door to the back room where Lee's grandmother lay dying. "I don't need absolution. I know I will go to hell, and that I'm beyond forgiveness for what I did to myself, others, and Lee; but why did he become what he did? Was it because of me? Or was he just meant to be that way?"

"We don't know, Rachel," Emily said, never having felt as powerless as she did then. "It's possibly something of both; he may have had it built into him to be that way from the time that he was born, and the events that followed stopped him from developing a normal conscience or empathy. But we don't have an answer. I'm sorry."

Rachel nodded, looking at Emily through eyes that seemed to be filled only with sadness. "Was he going to kill me?" she said. Her expression told Emily that she already knew the answer.

Emily nodded. "We think you were a possible target; as was your mother. Did you know he was behind the attacks?"

There was a weak shrug. "When I heard some of the names they sounded familiar. My days in Willow Springs and Tooele County were a long time ago, and my memory isn't good – my own fault, I guess. I did wonder if it was him, but I didn't want to say anything because I didn't want to go into that part of my life."

An odd noise came from the back room and Rachel stood quickly, looking concerned. "That's my mother. It's time for her pain meds." She walked to the door in between the two rooms. "If you need me to answer anything else then please – can it wait a few days? The doctor thinks she doesn't have long left – it might be a matter of days or hours. And I need to – to understand what's happened."

Emily stood almost in tandem with Hotch. "Officer Barry will be in touch," she said. "He understands the situation. As far as we know, the press have no idea of your identity, and he will try to keep it that way."

There was another weak smile and Rachel brushed away the tears as they formed in pools around the lines on her face. "Thank you," she said. "And I'm sorry for what he did, for what I did. I guess I'm doing my penance." She gestured to the room behind her, from which another sound came.

Emily looked at Hotch, unable to listen to the noise again. The woman in there was dying, the last breaths of life slipping away from her. Hotch gave her a short nod.

"Take care of yourself," he said. "We'll see ourselves out."

They waited until Rachel had left the room, her voice becoming calmer as she spoke to her mother, murmurs of love and peaceful whispers continuing the charade she had been living. Whether Mrs Ashley was aware that her nurse was in fact her estranged daughter, no one would ever know. And no one would ever know if it had mattered.

Emily checked the front door was secure before following Hotch to the car, the quiet between them filled with their own thoughts, none of which they wanted to share.

They were half way back to Salt Lake City when Hotch broke the silence. "Do you mind if we go and see my uncle?"

She shook her head. "No. I kind of thought we would," she said, glancing over at him as he drove. She understood how he had made this decision, why he had chosen to revisit his past - as painful as it was.

He changed direction and headed to the care home, the roads seeming familiar even under a thicker layer of snow than before. She tried to not think of the details that Hotch had told her of his time growing up, of his father, of Hotch taking on responsibility that wasn't really meant for him. Everybody had cracks in their psyche, everybody had flaws, and sometimes it was possible to identify from where they had come. But without those flaws, they would not be the same person they now were. Emily wondered if Hotch realised how he had been made by what had happened to him, and although it could never have been a good thing, it had given him the strength, and the understanding of himself, to do what he did now.

Peace Fields Nursing Home was quieter than when she had last been there. The atmosphere was sombre, mourning still taking place, but a few smiles were cast their way by the staff as they went past.

"Is it possible to see James Hotchner?" she heard Hotch say, the name seeming strange as it came out of his mouth. There was a nod from the receptionist as she offered to show him the way to the sitting room where James was.

Hotch glanced back at Emily. She gave him a smile. "I'll wait here," she said. "Take all the time you need."

She watched him walk away, down the corridor, and noticed a different tenseness in his shoulders. She hoped that when he returned, some of the ghosts he carried would have been allowed to leave; and that he'd had forgiven, among others, himself.

* * *

Hotch stood at the doorway for a few minutes, looking at the man he hadn't seen for nearly twenty five years. He was almost unrecognisable. His skin was ravaged by illness as well as time, his eyes whitened by cataracts, and his hair was thin and white. Hotch wondered whether this was what he would become, and prayed it wouldn't be.

"Aaron," the voice was weak and quiet, yet it was the same voice that had refused to help all those years before, and the same wave of anger rose in Hotch's chest as it had done back then. "You're all grown up."

Hotch stood in front of him, obscuring the view outside that James had been looking at. "You've grown old," he said, unsure of how to begin this conversation, of what it was all going to be about.

"Time does that to you," James said, looking closely at Hotch. "How old are you now?"

"Forty-three," Hotch said. "You know why I'm here?" He was unsure whether James knew anything about his life, and given what he knew of his uncle, he assumed not. He had never wanted to get involved.

James shrugged. "I don't think it's because you want to take me out for the day, which is a shame. I've been stuck in this place for three years without seeing any other scenery."

No pity rose inside Hotch. "I've been investigating the murders of elderly people in the state," he said. "Including the one that happened here."

"Oh," James said, looking back out of the window. "You're a cop, are you? I thought you wanted to be a lawyer. Your father would have been disappointed with that."

Hotch gave a slight laugh. "No, I'm not a cop," he said. "I did become a lawyer, and I was a prosecutor for the state. I now lead an FBI unit."

"And you've come here to tell me how successful you are? Well, thanks for that, Aaron, but I don't really care," the old man laughed, a harsh noise that Hotch had sometimes heard in his nightmares.

He sat down, wanting James to know that he wasn't going to be blown away that easily. "How did you get to be the way you are?" he said. "What made you like this?"

James moved awkwardly in his chair, readjusting his posture. Hotch felt the urge to help, to rearrange his pillows, but he allowed himself to be selfish and to let his uncle do it himself. "I wasn't smart, Aaron. I never claimed to be. I did what I could to have the best life possible, and that's why I didn't get involved with what your father was doing. You seemed to cope well enough with it yourself. Sean ended up alright too, I guess? I think you sheltered him from most of it."

Letting the words sink in, Hotch stared at the scene James saw on a daily basis and wondered if it was some kind of penitence. His uncle had no family to look after him or visit him, and he was filled with sympathy of sorts. "My life was hell," he said quietly, as much to himself as to James. "I lived in fear of what my father would do next, and as an adult I lived in fear of becoming my father. You were there and you could have helped, but you chose not to."

James turned slowly around, the tendons in his neck visible through thin, baggy skin. "Then I got what I deserved, didn't I? Cancer that is slow and painful, and no one to help me die. No, Aaron, you didn't deserve what your father did to you, and I felt guilty sometimes for not helping you out; but you survived and, as you tell me, you turned out just fine." James studied him, his eyes roaming across every centimetre of Hotch's face. "You don't look like him. You look like your mother."

Hotch stood, the words soothing a wound that had been too long open. He looked at his uncle, someone with whom he shared flesh and blood, but not compassion, and he found he could spare some forgiveness. It hadn't been him. He understood that now when his eighteen year old self had been unable able to. The world wasn't always about you. "I'll see that you're better taken care of," he said, beginning to walk away.

"Why?"

The word stung almost delightfully as he turned his back.

"Because I'm not my father, and I'm not you," Hotch said without turning round, finally believing the words for himself for the first time.

* * *

He didn't speak for while after they got in the car, and Emily didn't press to know what had happened. She was accustomed to Hotch's silences, so she tried to relax instead and enjoy the peace that came with not being on a case.

"I've arranged with the home that he's moved to one of the executive suites they have," he said as they came into the city.

She nodded, not sure if he'd noticed as he was concentrating on driving. "At your expense?" His answer would tell a lot.

"It's not that much. His health insurance and savings have afforded him a decent level of care. He's terminally ill, probably less than six months to live, and it will allow us both the chance to move on." His confession was more than she had been expecting.

"'_The weak can never forgive; forgiveness is the attribute of the strong,'" _she said softly as flakes of snow danced before them.

"'_Always forgive your enemies – nothing annoys them so much,'" _he said. "I can play at the quotes game too, you know. It's what comes of working with Reid for more hours than I care to calculate."

She laughed. He would tell her more about his visit when he was ready, and she was happy to wait, because now she was sure that the time would come. "And which quote is more apt for you right now?"

He shook his head. "I haven't worked that out yet," he said as the hotel loomed in front of them. "I still need time to decide."

He parked outside the main entrance, the snow falling heavily enough by now to cause concerns about their planned take off in a few hours. They walked into the hotel together, their paces matching and the distance between them closer than a stranger would expect to see between colleagues.

Packing wouldn't take very long, and Emily was now beginning to feel relief at the thought that they should soon be leaving this city, as beautiful as it was, leaving behind the dissatisfaction she felt at the outcome of the case and all the wrongs that had happened here.

But there was something else, something that was circling over her like a vulture. It was a strange feeling; and it just wouldn't let her be.

* * *

_Leave a little review, would ya? One more to – it'll be up on Tuesday _

_Sarah x_


	30. Chapter 30

_Here it is – the end of this tale. It's been novel length and written in about two months – I'm quite pleased with that._

_Thank you to **Chiroho** for betaing this. I am eternally grateful! _

_Thank you to everyone who has reviewed throughout, especially to those who have taken the time to review each chapter. You are why it was written in the first place._

_Enjoy..._

**Humanity**

"In this world everything changes except good deeds and bad deeds; these follow you as the shadow follows the body."

- Unknown

**Chapter Thirty**

The view outside the windows was obscured by darkness, a break in the snow resulting in a blackened landscape with only the ground coloured white. Take off had predictably been delayed, the weather proving to be a hindrance once more. There was a sense of relief, even as they waited at the terminal to begin their trip home, that within a few hours they would be asleep in their own beds, with no one except Morgan and Hotch expected to show their faces in the BAU the next day.

JJ's eyes were half closed, fighting sleep, as the plane began its ascent. Emily had passed out hard candy as usual, and a few glances had been thrown Reid's way, his fear of the plane leaving the ground a quiet common knowledge.

"Where do you get this candy from?" JJ said, eyeing the pink and yellow thing Emily had just passed to her.

Emily smiled, putting the bag on the table in reach of almost everybody. "There's an online old fashioned candy store, where you can get all the candy from when we were kids," she glanced at Hotch. "You can get cola cubes on there too."

JJ raised her eyebrows, popping the candy into her mouth and sucking to clear the pop out of her ears. It tasted of sweet pears, and she found she quite liked it. However, the insinuation that Emily knew Hotch's favourite sweet was one she was rather fascinated by, and she wondered whether it would hurt to do some fishing.

"So, what are you guys doing when we get home?" JJ said, looking from Hotch to Emily and making it clear to the other three that she wasn't asking them.

"I foresee a hot bath, pyjamas and at least twelve hours worth of good quality sleep in my future," Emily said, her dead pan features making it perfectly apparent that she knew exactly what JJ was up to.

JJ smiled sweetly, and transferred her gaze to Hotch. "How about you?"

"Paperwork," Hotch said, his mask now well and truly fixed, covering any hints. "I guess I'll get a couple of hours done before I go to bed."

JJ squinted at him. Even if she even thought that he wasn't going to be going home with Emily, she knew he was too exhausted to even pick up a pen. He raised a single eyebrow back and relaxed back into his seat next to Emily. They hadn't bothered to sit apart, and JJ was pleased about that. There was no need, and they could obviously see that. The team were not going to go shouting to HR or Strauss, and they wouldn't expect either Hotch or Emily to be anything less than professional when on a case.

But now they weren't on a case. It was over. The bad guy had been stopped from harming any more people, and they could go home. She closed her eyes with relief.

"So what are you up to when we get back?" Emily said. It took a few seconds before JJ realised the question was directed at her.

"Waking up Henry," she said, the thought of it heavenly. "He'll be fast asleep by now, and I really should leave him be, but I haven't seen him in so long." She smiled dreamily at the prospect. "Then I'm going to sleep for a good ten hours straight and tomorrow I'm not even going to get dressed."

Reid shifted forward in his seat, his movements stiff. He was clearly in some pain still, and JJ could understand Hotch's concern when he'd first seen him after he and Emily returned to the hotel. "There's an online chess tournament that I should just get back in time to enrol in. One thing about being stabbed is that it does give you a bit of a chance to rest, so I'm nowhere near as tired as you."

"You should still be resting," Hotch said, not looking up at Reid, his eyes focused on a document resting on his lap. "If you want to get back behind your desk within ten days, you need to sleep as much as possible."

Reid shrugged. "I doubt I'll do very well. I don't suppose my state of mind is conducive to winning at the moment, but it'll be a nice wind-down after everything that's happened."

"Is that from Detective Barry?" Rossi said. JJ had thought he was asleep. His eyes had been closed since they had taken off, and his expression so peaceful she'd thought he must have dozed off immediately.

Hotch nodded. "It is. I received it just as we were leaving. It's a school report written by his ninth grade teacher. She raises concerns about his family life and the influence of his grandfather. She also suggests that he needed to be seen by a psychologist as he had some behaviours that concerned her. Her name was Stephanie Waldren, and she was one of the people mentioned by Gemma Lafayette that Lee had threatened revenge on." He gave a half shrug. The information was now almost useless. They didn't need it in catching him, but it provided information about his background which meant Lee could be further profiled.

Rossi slid further down into the seat. "You know, there are too many kids to think about that have had childhoods as bad or worse than what Lee did, but they don't all turn out to be serial killers. There must have been something wired wrongly in his brain."

Morgan stretched in his seat, looking more relaxed than JJ had seen for days. He would be worried, she knew, about the investigation that would take place into his conduct, but I had assured him that he would still be recommended to stay on the unit; his actions placed under scrutiny for a while. "Would he have gone on to offend as he did if there had been some form of intervention?" Morgan said. "We know he was a witness to a murder carried out by George Mulliner when he was child. That could have been the turning point. If someone had taken this teacher's report seriously, then there's every chance that the tendencies he showed could have been altered through therapy. That would have suggested that it is nurture rather than nature that makes someone a psychopath."

Rossi closed his eyes, looking unfazed by the conversation. "We've had this discussion before, and I, for one, am too tired for it now. We will have plenty of time to analyze Lee's behaviour when we've caught up on more pressing issues. Like sleep."

JJ smiled, watching the rest of her colleagues tipping back seats and moving into more comfortable positions. Only Hotch remained awake, his eyes taking in Lee's school report line by line, Emily now asleep on his shoulder, oblivious to their closeness.

JJ caught his eye and gave him a soft smile. "You know, you could lose your reputation as being an ice man," she said, her voice remaining low.

Hotch smiled, pushing the report onto the table. "I think most people know that's just a facade," he said, moving his arm so it was around Emily's shoulders. "And if not, I'm sure you can keep our secret."

She nodded, her eyes beginning to fall shut themselves, the lights on the plane now dim and the temperature warm enough on board to sleep soundly. No turbulence woke them, and it was only when the plane began to descend did Reid rouse their senses by demanding candy from Emily.

* * *

There was no snow on the ground as JJ left her parked car, and fumbled in her bag for the keys to the new house she and Will had just moved in to. It had a larger garden for Henry to play in when he was older, a guest bedroom, and another, smaller room, for when they decided that Henry needed a brother or a sister. The move was still recent enough for her to get a brief thrill every time she came home.

A light was on upstairs, telling her that Will had waited up. She guessed he would be reading, his preferred pastime, not being a fan of TV unless it was sport that was on. She smiled as the key slid into the lock, looking forward to that first cuddle of Henry, then one from Will after that. She turned the key.

* * *

Rossi opened the mailbox before heading up the driveway. He was expecting another letter from his editor confirming the figure for the next two books, and he was interested to see what was in it. It wasn't the money, it was more to do with what sort of slant they wanted from the next book, what they thought the public was interested in. He was considering taking a sabbatical for three months from the BAU to write it, just coming in for the big cases, as he suspected that his editor was looking for a book that focused on just one killer. An in depth exploration of a single criminal mind.

The letter was there, as he'd expected, along with a handful of bills, and a delivery note to say that his neighbour had taken in a package. He double checked the house number for the neighbour and breathed a sigh of relief; it had gone to Mrs Hartshed at number twelve. If it had ended up at number sixteen, then he never would have seen the twenty-two year old malt that had been sent from his whisky club.

He pulled his key from his jeans pocket, the security light coming on brightly and almost blinding him, but at least it meant he could insert the key easily. His cell phone sounded as he was about to turn, and he pulled it out, looking at the message. He breathed a long sigh of relief; it was Jolene, texting to say that her sister was now out of hospital. He turned the key.

* * *

Morgan glared at Reid as he walked slowly from the elevator towards his apartment door. He lived in what must have been the state's smallest apartment block with only two apartments on each of the four floors. But that wasn't the cause of Morgan's wrath.

Since their rather uncomfortable conversation earlier, Reid hadn't stopped talking. At first, it had been a blessing as it had completely taken Morgan's mind off everything that had happened, but by now he had the start of a headache and was desperate to fall asleep in an attempt to be fresh for his interview with Strauss tomorrow afternoon.

However, he'd driven Reid home, and was determined to make sure he was settled in his apartment before heading over to his own. It wasn't penance; he had suffocated any feelings of guilt, knowing that it was a pointless emotion once the cause of it had been identified and then put in the process of being rectified. It was a genuine affection for the boy genius. He just wished he'd brought earplugs.

"You sure you'll be okay?" Morgan said, standing outside Reid's door as Reid hunted for his keys. The eidetic memory had some flaws, and recalling where he had put keys was one of them.

"I'll be fine, Morgan. I can order groceries online for delivery tomorrow. I have everything I need. Seriously, you need to get home and get some rest," Reid said, inserting the key.

Morgan nodded, too tired to debate something that was actually true just for the sake of it. He stood back as Reid turned the key.

* * *

"You don't need to give me a ride home," Emily said, glancing at Hotch as he drove. "Morgan would have been happy to take me. I think he would have appreciated the distraction from I."

Hotch looked oddly harsh as he indicted to turn into the parking lot of her apartment block. "I wanted to make sure you got in okay," he said. He had been quiet for the whole of the ride, and she was beginning to wonder why.

"Aaron," she said as the car came to a halt. "Are you going to tell me what the matter is?" She placed a hand on the clip of his seatbelt and looked at him severely. For her own peace of mind she needed to know what was eating him up.

He turned to her, and she was reminded of the other time he had taken her home and they had been parked near here. "It feels strange knowing I'm not going to spend the night with you," he said, a confession.

"Then why don't you stay here tonight?" she said after a brief moment's thought.

"Is that wise?" he said. "We've not spent a night apart, and we've only just started to see each other. This could become rather intense."

Emily nodded. "You're right; it could. But we're not a pair of teenagers. We know what we want, or at least I do."

He turned away from her briefly and looked out of the window. "I want to wake up with you in the morning," he said. "If I don't, I'll feel that what we had was just because we were in Utah."

She removed her hand from the seatbelt clip and placed it on his arm instead. "I want you to stay with me tonight, for the same reason," she said. "Now let's get out of this car and go somewhere we can get some sleep."

He looked at her, the corners of his mouth twisting upwards faintly. Then he got out of the vehicle and pulled their luggage out of the trunk. Emily let him. She'd fought sometimes for her right to not be treated like the weaker sex, but Hotch carrying her belongings made her feel looked after rather than undermined.

They got to her apartment door with passing a single other soul. "Coffee?" she said, pulling her key out of her purse.

"Just bed, I think," he said, and she turned the key in the lock.

* * *

The sudden sound blared through the night air, causing nearby night time creatures to seek shelter, and any passersby to fear the worst. The explosion was quick and without pomp or circumstance, a swift, sharp bang that punched glass from windows, and anyone near enough off their feet.

The door that had just been opened was torn from its hinges with the force of the blast, falling onto the person who had just turned the key.

And then there was a shocked silence that bathed the immediate vicinity, shortly succeeded by the flashing lights of emergency vehicles and the sounds of sirens wailing like banshees. There was no rest for anyone. Wicked or not.

* * *

_And yes, I know I am wicked too. I couldn't help but pinch a little season three cliffhanger to get you all (hopefully) worried._

_So, who do you think turned that key?_

_If you are nice, and review, I will continue this small saga in a fic to be entitled **When the Blue of the Night. **The first chapter of this will go up on 16 March, if all goes well._

_However, I am going to post my promised one shot, which has now become a five-shot. It's called **Lake Erie** and the first chapter will go up on Thursday. It's not a case fic, but a twenty four hour window on Hotch and Prentiss some months after the events of **100, **and building on from their relationship in this story,( without spoilers for **Blue.) **It isn't nausea inducing fluff, but it does focus on an important point in their relationship._

**_Thank you for reading, and in the words of Vinnie Jones' character in Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels 'It's been emotional.'_**

_Sarah x_


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